


Deep in the Heart of Me

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Under My Skin [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Avengers Family, Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint & Bucky Relationship Experts, Dating, Developing Relationship, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Crippled Idiots, Emotionally Mature Tony Stark, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecure Tony, Lonely Tony Stark, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, POV Alternating, Parent Steve Rogers, Parenthood, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scared Together, Secret Relationship, Steve Has Issues, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Recovering, Superfamily (Marvel), Supportive Tony Stark, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Saves Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Clint Barton, War Veteran Natasha Romanov, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 257,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were days when the realization that he was someone’s father made Steve's head hurt, but mostly he was grateful that he could trust his instincts, because apparently Peter was what had been missing from his life. Yes, he still had lingering, unresolved issues from his time in the Army, and sure, he had what Bucky annoyingly referred to as a criminally untapped ass, and no life outside of work and Peter, but Steve was okay with how his life had turned out because of trusting his instincts.</p><p>Unfortunately, those same instincts had straight up betrayed him by going <em>absolutely haywire</em> upon being exposed to Tony Stark.</p><p>
  <span class="small">Veteran single dad Steve runs a tattoo shop. For his 40th birthday, Pepper arranges for Tony to get that tattoo he always wanted, and he winds up with the mother of all crushes instead. Jumping out of airplanes is one thing, but falling in love is something else entirely. Steve struggles with the idea of actually letting someone into his life. Tony is left trying to keep his heart from being broken while Steve figures things out.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Potrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/gifts), [27dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/gifts), [InnerCinema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/gifts), [Ishtar12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishtar12/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Captain "Punk" America](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/153035) by http://tashastrawberry.tumblr.com/. 



> So, I saw artwork on tumblr where Steve is all gorgeous and covered with tattoos. One of them happens to be Tony's name... and, uh, I just wanted to think about how that tattoo got there. _This was supposed to be short_. Famous last words. This wouldn't exist if not for my gorgeous [Imagine Tony & Bucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/) co-horts, as they completely ~~encouraged~~ enabled me, and have helped catch mistakes, and yes. Love you gals! Ishtar12 and I met through this story, and I guarantee you that everything is 1,000x's better due to her letting me emotionally abuse her with fic meta / comments / etc. THANK YOU!
> 
> Chapter updates every Monday, EST.
> 
> Please keep in mind throughout this story that Steve has unaddressed and unresolved issues from his time in the Army. Sometimes, it might seem like he's overreacting, or under reacting, or behaving irrationally, because, well... he is. He's also unable/unwilling to accept that he has PTSD. He'll come around, but there will be many feels before he gets there. As always, happy endings guaranteed.
> 
> Title comes from the lyrics to _[Under My Skin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TG7AqzyQQU)_. Ella Fitzgerald's version is the only one for me. ;D

Tony wasn’t a fan of celebrating birthdays, specifically his own. Sure, there had been a time back in his early twenties when he’d appreciated the excuse to party until he forgot what it was he was supposedly celebrating, but that had gotten old fast. 

For every high there was a corresponding low, and his lows just seemed to get lower the older he got. The drugs always wore off, the booze fog eventually lifted, and no matter how good the sex was, he always found himself feeling alienated and alone at the end of the day. It was really better for everyone involved that he quit while he was ahead.

Added bonus? Behaving apparently pissed the tabloids off to no end, which was really a gift in and of itself. The last big controversy he’d given them was years prior when he’d left behind the weapons game, but that didn’t stop the press from keeping tabs on him in the hopes he’d revert to form.

Besides, even if partying had still been something Tony enjoyed, the idea of turning forty didn’t really seem worthy of celebration. Maybe if he had an actual _life_ instead of his work, but…

“You okay back there, boss?”

Tony sighed, slapped a smile on his face. “Sure, fine. I’d be better if you told me what this was all about.”

“Ms. Potts doesn’t want me ruining the surprise.”

Tony peered through the tinted window again, but still didn’t recognize anything. They were in Brooklyn, he knew that much, but no matter how hard he wracked his brains, he drew a big fat blank when it came to sussing out whatever it was Pepper had planned.

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for a hint.”

Happy laughed, but Tony already knew it was a lost cause. He couldn’t really blame the guy; no one wanted to get on Pepper’s bad side. “No can do. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll be there in a couple minutes, anyway.”

“Sure, likely story.”

If it had been anyone else, Tony wouldn’t have gotten in the car in the first place, but he trusted Pepper not to have lined up some awful surprise party. You needed friends for those sorts of things anyway, and he could count his on one hand. Rhodey was still in Afghanistan, Happy was driving, Pepper was supposedly waiting for them somewhere in Brooklyn, and Bruce was at a conference in D.C.

“And we’re here,” Happy announced, pulling over next to a row of parked cars.

Tony frowned. “A diner? Seriously, what the hell, Happy?”

“I just follow directions, boss,” Happy swore. “You want answers, go to the source.”

Pepper was standing outside waiting for them, so Tony didn’t waste any more time. “Okay, Potts, out with it.”

“Happy Birthday,” Pepper said, pressing a kiss to Tony’s cheek once he was close enough. “And stop frowning.”

The diner looked a lot like every other diner he’d ever seen. “I’m admittedly curious. What, do they have the best waffles in New York or something?” 

Tony allowed Pepper to take him by the arm, but when he headed for the diner, she yanked, pulling him in the other direction. “Possibly. I haven’t looked into it. Your present is over here.”

“What do you… Oh. No, _seriously_?”

Pepper smiled at him beatifically, and Tony, idiot that he was, allowed her to drag them across the street. “You made me promise, remember?”

“I… Sure, but… Pep!” Tony stared up at the sign, stomach fluttering with nerves. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Yes, you were. It’s only a consultation, but you’ve been talking about this for years, Tony, so I hope you actually go through with it.” Tony took a deep breath, exhaled, then met Pepper’s no nonsense gaze head on. “I’ve done my research, and this is the place for you, without a doubt. You have an appointment, so… good luck!”

Pepper planted another kiss on him, gave his hand a squeeze, then headed for the car. “Wait, you’re not coming with me?”

“Nope. You need to do this yourself if you’re going to do it,” Pepper called, giving a little wave as she slid into the back of his car. “We’ll talk tomorrow, and you can tell me all about it.”

“You suck, Potts!” Pepper just blinked, her smile never wavering, and Tony hung his head. “I don’t mean that. We could just get waffles instead?”

“Go inside, Tony,” she ordered before the car door slammed closed. 

Tony stood there for a moment, waving back at Happy as he drove off, but then spun on his heels and stared at the sign for SHIELD Tattoo as if staring might change what he was dealing with. 

The exterior of the shop was surprisingly lacking in neon, or skulls, the view through the show window obscured by thick red curtains, preventing him from getting a sneak peek of the shop. Not sure what else to do, Tony shuffled forward, and read the ornately carved sign on display behind the glass of the window.

_If you are racist, sexist, homophobic, or an asshole, don’t come in._

Beneath this, there were several easels, each with what he assumed was the name of an artist, along with a photographed sample of work. As Tony moved closer, the images shifted and faded into each other, and he realized they were actually using the latest and greatest StarkPads, each nestled into a custom carved wooden case.

The first easel displayed works Tony would have had trouble distinguishing from some of what he’d seen in the museums Pepper was so fond of dragging him to. An homage to Botticelli shifted into something downright cubist, followed by skin that looked almost as if it had been sketched upon with a graphite pencil. 

Beside this display, gorgeous, delicate bursts of color that resembled watercolors having been brushed into skin accompanied the name Natasha Romanova. The name was familiar, although he couldn’t say why. 

The remaining artist was someone going by the moniker Hawkeye. They seemed to work only in black ink, each piece more intricate, and macabrely whimsical than the one preceding it.

Almost against his will, Tony’s attention shifted back to the work of Steve Rogers before he made up his mind, and took hold of the door, steeling himself before entering the shop. Bells chimed softly as the door was opened, the sound fading into the background as Tony stared in surprise.

He hadn’t been in many tattoo shops, so he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting. The heady scent of freshly brewed coffee was a pleasant surprise, as was the sound of Ella Fitzgerald emanating from what looked to be an actual record player. It almost drowned out the sound of a tattoo gun, the steady hum blending nicely with the music. 

The establishment had _atmosphere_ , looked like a place out of time, all rich, vibrant colors, plush leather, gleaming wood, and brass. Whoever had decorated managed to make the relatively small interior seem spacious and deep, strategically placed mirrors reflecting the glow of chandeliers, so each of the three areas beyond the front desk seemed bathed in light. Five foot high, thick wooden partitions that could have been repurposed booths from a speakeasy divided the space, affording each of the artist’s stations a bit of privacy. Someone walking in to browse wouldn’t have the opportunity to gawp at the paying customers, something which Tony greatly appreciated.

At the front of the shop, the lighting was moody, intimate, and reminded Tony of Paris for reasons he couldn’t explain. The walls were adorned with framed art, but there were also photographs that looked to be a unit of soldiers, the largest of which bore a little placard reading “The Howling Commandos” beneath.

“Can I help you?”

Tony spun on his heels, tearing his eyes away from the photo, and felt a little like he’d been hit by a truck. Standing before him was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on, and he’d partied with supermodels, so that was saying something. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled meticulously to the elbow, exposing his forearms, one of which was entirely covered in intricate artwork. The shirt clung to his chest and broad shoulders as if it had been painted on, and Tony had to fight off a giggle as he imagined the guy flexing and sending his buttons flying across the room. 

One hand was tucked into the pocket of his dark pants, but there was nothing casual in his stance. Tony got the feeling that if anyone tried any funny business in the shop, this adonis would toss them back out onto the street without so much as breaking a sweat.

Also, he had arched an eyebrow and was still waiting for an answer to his question, and might not appreciate Tony very obviously checking him out.

“Uh, I have an appointment,” Tony finally managed. “For a consultation.”

This earned him a smile, and suddenly those baby blues the new love of his life was sporting seemed a lot less cold, and a lot more inviting. Tony smiled back hard enough that his face hurt, hoping it wasn’t as dopey looking as it felt. He hadn’t been so intimidated by another person’s good looks since his MIT days, back when he’d been a scrawny virgin, years younger than anyone else on campus.

Tony’s heart had been racing, but as the man approached, it kicked into overdrive. He accepted the offered hand, shook while appreciating the strong grip, almost missing the introduction. “Steve Rogers. Welcome to my shop. You must be Ms. Potts’s friend?”

“Must be,” he answered smoothly. “Tony.”

“Nice to meet you, Tony.”

Steve’s deep voice and absolutely criminally kissable mouth made his name sound sensuous. Tony wanted to throw himself at Steve and find out if he felt as good as he looked. “Gorgeous.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your work,” Tony clarified hastily, mentally chastising himself for the slip as the handshake came to an end. “I was admiring it before heading in. The decor is pretty snazzy, too. I’m digging the retro vibe.”

“Thanks.” 

Steve had answered politely, but his eyes were narrowed slightly, as if he had picked up on Tony’s bullshit. Of course, he finally had a reason to believe in love at first sight, and the guy of his dreams had to go and spoil it by being intuitive enough to have already figured out Tony was a walking disaster.

“Come on back,” Steve suggested, “we’ll get an idea of what you’re looking for, see if one of our artists would be a good match.”

It took every ounce of self restraint he had, but Tony managed to keep from groaning with appreciation once he got a look at Steve’s ass. He tore his eyes away in order to take in more of the shop, trying not to stare as they walked past the source of the tattoo gun sound. Another blond was hunched over a person stretched out on a table, working black ink into skin, seemingly oblivious of everything else around him. Based upon the bit of the design Tony saw as they walked past, he guessed that was the artist known as Hawkeye.

The room he was led into was tiny compared to his own office, but had enough space for a couple of couches, a table, and a desk in the corner. More artwork decorated the walls, along with recent photos, one of which featured Steve, Hawkeye, and a breathtaking redhead standing outside the shop together, the three of them holding the SHIELD Tattoo sign.

“No wonder the name was familiar,” Tony blurted, stepping close enough that his nose almost touched the glass of the framed photo. “Bruce’s friend,” he explained, grinning over his shoulder at Steve. “Although I could have sworn he introduced her as Natalie.”

“She’ll be here shortly if you wanted to do the consultation with her, instead.”

“No, I want you,” Tony blurted, ducking his head and laughing at his choice of words. Yikes. “Your style is a better match,” he added, wondering why he was even bothering. Steve didn’t seem like a stupid guy, and anyone that attractive had to get hit on all the time. 

“Okay, great.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Tony helped himself to a seat on the couch opposite Steve, not trusting himself to sit within touching distance.

“Just so you know, we specialize in custom work here, although each of us offers some shop specific flash, which is back out front if that’s more your speed.”

“Rather have something one-of-a-kind,” Tony answered, which seemed to please Steve.

“Do you have any tattoos?” he asked, although Tony got the sense he already knew the answer to the question.

“Nope. You’d be my first.”

Tony bit the inside of his cheek, managing to stave off any awkward attempts at clarifying the remark, as that’d only make it way, _way_ worse. Steve was just smiling, though, which was nice of him.

“So, why now?”

There were a lot of ways to answer the question, most of them only skimming the surface of the thing. He hadn’t woken up that morning thinking of getting a tattoo, and he’d been tempted to walk away from the opportunity once Pepper left him to his own devices, but now that he was in the shop, and sitting opposite of Steve, Tony found himself in the odd position of being honest.

“You know who I am, right?” Steve shifted a bit, as if the question made him uncomfortable, but eventually he nodded. “Well, then you know I’m a lucky guy. Luckier, and less deserving of that luck than most. So, ah, I hope you’ll understand that I’m not complaining, really. I’d just like a… an obvious, irrefutable reminder, maybe. That I’m not the person everyone thinks I am, or even the person I _used_ to be.” He chewed at his lower lip, shrugged. “Everyone acts like they know me, and even stranger, they get pissed off if I do something to remind them that they _don’t_. Like I’m ruining something for them by not behaving the way they want, or expect, and I understand how stupid I sound right now, so feel free to tell me to shut up.”

But Steve was leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees, and his large hands clasped before him. “No, you don’t.” He waited until Tony looked up before continuing. “We’ve had celebrity clients in here before, but we’ve also turned some of them away. We’re not interested in using your status as a way to promote ourselves, and no one that works here will speak to reporters, or keep any record of the work you have done.”

Tony laughed brittley. “Well, that’s good to know, I guess.”

Steve continued watching him, his gaze calm, and steady, and comforting for no reason at all. “You don’t have to say anything else, although I’m happy to listen. I only wanted to make sure you _had_ a reason, a real one. Guess I’m picky about who I’ll work with.”

“Well, uh, I hope you’ll lower your standards long enough to take me on as a client,” Tony joked, wincing at his choice of words. “Sorry, that sounded shitty, I didn’t mean—”

“That only depends on what you want to have done,” Steve thankfully interrupted. “What did you have in mind?”

Which was the million dollar question, really. He’d considered and discarded idea after idea over the years, nothing feeling like a good match. Steve was waiting for an answer, and the idea of disappointing him didn’t sit right with Tony, so he opened his mouth and hoped for the best. 

“Uh, that’s part of the problem, actually. I didn’t have a specific idea in mind—always figured I’d know it when I saw it, but... You probably remember the press conference I gave a couple years ago?”

Steve gave a slight nod. “It might have been on TV once or twice.”

“Well, I left out the part where I was dying,” Tony explained, watching the shift in Steve’s expression. “Which is probably good, since I managed to fix myself before it was too late.” Tony tapped against his chest. “Let’s just say I had a lot of motivation to design the permanent artificial heart SI announced a couple months later.”

The brush with death had also left Tony haunted by the idea of what he’d be leaving behind when he died. He thrown himself into the business in a way he’d never done before, ultimately uncovering the black market dealings Obadiah Stane had orchestrated. That had more than made his mind up for him, and before the news even hit of Stane’s arrest, Tony was announcing SI would no longer be manufacturing weapons.

His tactic had won them some support with the public, although their stocks had still taken a hit once word of Stane’s actions got out. Pepper being named as CEO hadn’t hurt, either, nor had his decision to step as far away from the limelight as possible without becoming a straight up recluse.

Tony had spent every day since the transplant trying to make up for his years of willful ignorance, but still lost sleep over everything that had come out during Stane’s trial, and the knowledge that countless people had been put in harm’s way by how he’d allowed SI to be run. Was still haunted by the understanding that the man he’d thought of as a surrogate father had only been using him; Stane’s testimony had been ugly and hurtful on purpose.

There were those who would always argue he was the traitor for the stance he’d taken, but it was a hell of alot easier to sleep at night when you spent your days developing bionic prosthetics, or working on clean energy.

Steve stayed quiet through his rambling, though his expression had softened somewhat by the end. "My brother has one of your prosthetics," he said after a moment. "Says it's almost like having his arm back again."

"Yeah? That's great. I mean, obviously it's not great that he lost an arm, but..." To Tony's relief, Steve was shaking with quiet laughter. "You know what I meant."

"Yes, Tony, I know what you meant."

The extent to which Tony appreciated Steve's patiently teasing tone of voice should have probably been alarming. Instead it flooded him with warmth as he watched the smile spread slowly across Steve's face.

"Good." 

"So, how's the heart work?"

Something in Steve's voice reminded Tony of when he had the beginnings of an idea. He gestured to a notebook and pencil on the table between them. "Okay if I use this?"

Steve nodded, so Tony helped himself, flipping past pages of sketches before coming to a blank sheet. "Right, so, whenever you're inventing something insane that shouldn't work, the first thing you do is assume the rules of the universe don't apply to you," he said, leaning over to start scribbling.

As Steve watched, Tony drew, the lines precise and entirely lacking in artistry, as far as he was concerned. By the end of his explanation, there was a diagram of his heart on the page, surrounded by bits of ridiculous notation, more than one _Ghostbusters_ reference, and some math for good measure. When he looked up to see if Steve was still with him, he was surprised to find the man studying him as if he was a puzzle to be solved.

"Sorry. I get carried away sometimes."

But Steve was shaking his head. "Don't apologize. That was fascinating. I don't know why it never occurred to me, but you're a bit of an artist yourself." Steve stared down at the schematic. "I always assumed..." Steve laughed, shook his head. "Actually, I saw that documentary about your father and figured you were like that, too."

Tony felt his face flush, and looked down at the paper. His father had been a genius in his own right, but he was more of a big idea man. The lesser minds could do all the grunt work, as far as Howard had been concerned. The documentary in question was full of examples of Howard entering a room, barking out orders or demands, and more or less bullying ideas out of his staff.

Stark Industries had been wildly successful, and his father had admittedly had some truly inspired ideas, but Howard's approach to parenting wasn't that far removed from his approach to business. He’d had a standard, had had expectations of Tony that no sane person would have had of a child, which was why he'd been building circuit boards while other kids his age were focusing on learning the names of animals.

"If he'd been alive," Tony began, then clamped his mouth shut, took a breath, then decided to just finish the sentence after all. "He'd probably have said it served me right for having a heart in the first place."

Steve kindly didn't follow up on the remark, although he did pick up the notebook and study the drawing. "Is it okay if I keep this?"

"Sure," Tony waved a hand dismissively, feeling oddly worn out. He didn't spend a lot of time having heart to hearts with people, especially not strangers, and the trip down memory lane wasn't helping much with his birthday blues. “Just don’t sell it on eBay, or Pepper will murder me.”

Steve flipped past his sketch, then started working on something of his own, the sound of pencil on paper somehow soothing Tony's frazzled nerves. Unable to stay still any longer, he hopped to his feet and began wandering around the office, studying the various framed photos.

"You were in the Army," he said, unable to look away from a photo of Steve in uniform, mid serious conversation with someone outside of the photo, while a good looking brunette mugged for the camera over his shoulder. There were group shots as well, but Steve looked intense and commanding in each and every one, the sort of man who took his rank seriously. "Should I call you Captain Rogers?"

Steve snorted. "You could, but Hawkeye might take issue with it, since you didn't serve under my command."

"He was part of your unit?"

"So was Natasha," Steve answered. "And my brother."

"Let me guess, he's the one making faces?" Tony pointed to the photo in question, and Steve nodded, despite not looking up from the sketchbook.

"That would be Bucky," he said, mouth tugging up at the corner.

“Not much of a family resemblance,” Tony said, mentally kicking himself after the words left his mouth. For all he knew, Steve’s own father had been as much of a cad as Tony’s had been, and he might have just put his foot in his mouth in a big way.

“We’re adopted.”

“Sorry.”

Steve wore a wry smile when he looked up and met Tony’s eyes. “You’re sorry someone adopted us?”

Tony did his fish out of water impression again, mouth opening and closing until Steve took pity on him and laughed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re secretly a troll, Rogers?”

“Nothing secret about that.” Steve tilted his head, motioned for Tony to join him on the couch. “Come tell me if I’m on the right track here.”

Nerves suddenly making a comeback in a big way, Tony tried to act casual as he plopped down beside Steve, not sure which was making him more anxious; the proximity to Steve, or the idea that a tattoo might finally be in his future.

“If you like the concept, I’ll put together a couple versions for you to choose from,” Steve explained, handing over the notebook. “Unsurprisingly, I’d recommend the chest as far as placement goes. My preference is for working in color, so if you’re thinking of a more technical, monochrome execution, we’ll want to talk to Hawkeye.”

Tony stared at the rough sketch of the clockwork heart Steve had put together, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. It wasn’t anything that would ever have occurred to him, but as soon as he realized what he was looking at, he knew it was exactly what he wanted.

“Wow. Uh… Okay, that is kind of spookily perfect,” he said once he could trust his voice. “Color would be better—whatever you think would work best, I trust your instincts.”

Tearing his eyes away, Tony looked up, found Steve watching him, wearing a soft, almost shy smile. “Good. I’d have been disappointed handing this off to someone else.”

“No, I definitely want your hands, and your hands only,” Tony answered, the words catching up with his brain a moment later. To his horror, he felt himself blush, unable to look away from Steve’s big blue eyes. “That sounded dirtier than I’d intended.”

“Give me a week to work up some finished options for you,” Steve said, thankfully ignoring his stupid mouth, although to Tony’s surprise, the smile aimed at him only intensified. “I’m assuming you’ll have Ms. Potts call to schedule the actual appointment?”

“Yup. I just go where she says, when she says, really.”

Steve nodded, carefully removing the notebook from Tony’s hands before closing it. “Great. We can arrange to have the shop closed while you’re here, if you’re worried about being seen by other customers. We take privacy seriously at SHIELD.”

To Tony’s dismay, Steve got up from the couch, which meant the consultation was over, and he’d have to leave. The birthday loneliness washed over him again, but he grit his teeth, forced himself back to his feet while reminding himself that he was a customer, not a friend, even if he’d gone and overshared.

“Thanks.”

Steve grabbed a sheet from one of the desk drawers, and handed it over. “Some dos and don’ts for the night before and day of your appointment.”

Tony skimmed the sheet, nodding absently. “Hey, uh, thanks for the consultation slash therapy session.” When he looked back up, Steve was smiling again, and also holding out what looked to be a business card.

“My cell is on the back, in case you need to get in touch directly.”

He couldn’t get the card fast enough. Steve was probably just being helpful, and going above and beyond for a high-profile client, but it still felt like a win in Tony’s books. “I’d give you a card, only, uh, I don’t actually _have_ any. Pepper doesn’t like it when I network.”

Tony fished a hand into his pocket while he was rambling, and after unlocking his phone, entered in Steve’s number without breaking eye contact, then sent off a quick one-handed message. Seconds later, Steve’s phone vibrated.

“Guessing I have it now?”

“Yup.”

Which made it a little easier, leaving the office, because Tony could pretend he’d actually have the courage to send another message, and that maybe Steve would reply, and perhaps he’d actually remember how to be charming, and be able to talk Steve into a date.

Yeah, not likely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Steve became a successful businessman, a father, and accidentally entangled with Tony Stark.

Steve Rogers wasn’t used to second guessing his instincts. He’d had to rely upon them rather heavily while in the Army, and liked to think that, on the whole, he’d been right to do so. Didn’t exactly have time to sit around and talk things through when people were shooting at you; a good leader needed to assess a threat and determine an appropriate response in the most efficient manner possible. 

After leaving the Army, Steve hadn’t seen any reason to change his approach to life. Rather than agonizing over the idea of starting his own business, he’d determined his goals, assembled a team, and hit the ground running. Failure simply wasn’t an option, and more than one person had credited his stubborn refusal to recognize that the odds were stacked against him as the very reason for his success. 

There were plenty of places to choose from if you wanted to get tattooed in Brooklyn, let alone the surrounding boroughs, but as far as Steve was concerned, few of them were as talented, dedicated, or respectable as his team. 

Those in the know went to SHIELD. What started as word of mouth evolved into significant social media presence, once Hawkeye took over promoting the shop. Steve thought the quality of their work spoke for itself, but was more than happy to let Clint have fun with postering, tweeting, or snap-whatevering his heart out.

Despite the long hours and hard work, a good bit of their success was down to pure luck. Bucky happened to be hanging out with Sam after one of their group sessions, and ran into an old friend who was doing some freelance writing for _Skin Deep_ magazine. Bucky hadn’t had any tattoos the last time they’d seen each other, and in the process of showing them off suggested she interview Steve. 

The editors had loved the idea of a shop run and staffed by veterans, especially once they found out that they didn’t use purchased flash, offer piercings as an option, or sell any merchandise, and that Steve regularly turned away potential clients. What was intended to be a sidebar piece became a cover story, complete with profiles on each of them, photos from their time serving together interspersed with shots of their work, and the shop.

One of the more memorable parts of the article featured a photo taken of Steve during the interview when someone came in with a misogynistic bit of trash they wanted turned into a chest piece. According to Sam, his “resting bitch face” was in full effect as he told the pixelated for privacy walk-in to go ahead and walk right back out again, the quote, “Son, just don’t,” called out along with the photo.

After the article ran, they found themselves booked to the extent that they couldn’t take on walk-ins for almost a year. Sometimes, people still showed up specifically to be turned away, much to Steve’s confusion; Clint had tried to explain it to him, but he’d cut him off once hashtags and hipsters worked their way into the conversation.

Miraculously, they had already been turning a profit six months after opening, but the article meant he’d been able to pay back the start-up money he’d borrowed from his fathers before the first year was up, and that was on top of upgrading the interior decorations to match his original vision. 

On the surface, Steve had been handling his return to civilian life superbly. His business was a success, he was surrounded by friends and family, and doing something he loved. When he was alone, it was a different story altogether. 

Sam noticed the cracks in his armor, and encouraged him to come to group with Bucky. Steve preferred to keep busy, rather than talking about his time in the Army, and the horrible sense of guilt that welled up inside of him whenever Bucky had a bad day, or Clint turned off his hearing aids and refused to communicate with anyone, or Natasha felt the need to spend the night sleeping off a bender on his couch. Never mind that he avoided sleep like he owed it money, or that he sometimes felt so alone and overwhelmed that he broke down and cried in the shower; as long as business was good, he could _pretend_ he was fine.

The big catalyst for change wasn't anything he should have reasonably been prepared for. Steve had gone on exactly three dates since leaving the Army, and the most action he'd seen as a result was an incredibly awkward goodnight kiss from a fella seemingly of the opinion that the date had gone a lot better than it had. When that was the extent of your romantic life, the whole concept of children didn't seem like something you had to worry about.

So, naturally, Steve had woken up one morning a single veteran trying desperately to ignore his PTSD, and gone to bed the same day as an adoptive father. Sometimes life was funny that way.

Richard Parker had been Special Forces when they first met, and apparently he'd made quite the impression on the man. In Steve’s experience, saving someone's life tended to have that effect. Richard was smart, talented, a bit too secretive at times for Steve, but a good friend, nonetheless. Steve had been the first person Richard turned to for help when he and Mary had decided to elope, and he’d been happy to play the role of Richard’s best man when they’d had a more elaborate service a year later.

Even after Richard left the Army, they’d kept in touch. The Parkers had conspired with his fathers to throw a welcome home bash after he and Bucky finally made it back to New York, their announcement that Mary was pregnant helping take some of the attention off of Steve, which was fine by him. He was busy enough as it was adjusting to the concept of choices not being life or death, and fighting against his instinct to treat everything he encountered on his morning runs as if it was a potential IED.

By the time Peter Parker was born, Steve was able to go on a run without avoiding every piece of trash along the side of the road, and SHIELD was a success story in the making, so he’d felt comfortable accepting when the couple asked him to be their son's Godfather. Of course, he’d also been under the impression that Richard and Mary had left the Intelligence game behind.

The last time he'd spoken to Richard, his friend had been preparing to go abroad, and they'd mostly talked about Peter. It wasn't until later that Steve realized Richard had been feeling him out, making certain he could still count on Steve to step up if necessary. 

And then Ben Parker showed up at the shop, and before he’d even opened his mouth, Steve knew his friends were dead. Part of him wasn't surprised to learn Richard and Mary hadn't given up the game after all, and that their "trip" was actually a cover for a C.I.A. operation, while the rest of him was just plain _furious_. They had a two-year old that was counting on them, and they’d gone and gotten themselves killed playing spy!

Ben and May had been willing to take on the responsibility of raising Peter, and if he’d been the sort of person to sit down and spend a lot of time thinking things over, Steve might have even taken them up on the offer, signed away the legal guardianship Richard and Mary had laid out in their will. Instead, he treated the situation as if he was still Captain Rogers—he trusted his instincts, then acted quickly, and in full force.

There were days he wished he’d actually thought it through, when the realization that he was now someone’s father just made his head hurt, but mostly he was grateful that he could trust his instincts, because apparently Peter was what had been missing from his life. Yes, he still had lingering, unresolved issues from his time in the Army, and sure, he had what Bucky annoyingly referred to as a criminally untapped ass, and no life outside of work and Peter, but Steve was okay with how his life had turned out because of trusting his instincts.

Unfortunately, those same instincts had straight up betrayed him by going _absolutely haywire_ upon being exposed to Tony Stark. 

“Tonight the big night, Cap?” Clint asked, slapping Steve on the back as he headed to his station.

Although Clint couldn’t see him, Steve rolled his eyes and wondered why the hell he’d told his friends that he’d given Stark his number, especially since he had no idea _why_ he’d done it in the first place. The teasing had started up almost immediately, mostly due to the fact that Steve hadn’t been on a date in almost three years, and had been stupid enough to say, “you’re right, he’s even better looking in person,” when Natasha had asked how the consultation went.

He kept his mouth shut when someone decorated his work station with pages from an old issue of _People_ magazine naming Tony Stark as the Sexiest Man Alive. He suffered in silence every time Natasha felt the need to play _Call Me Maybe_ over the shop’s soundsystem. 

Bucky decided to fully commit to playing the role of annoying brother, and went and ran his mouth to their fathers, purposefully leaving out some of the pertinent details. Like the fact that he _absolutely did not_ ask Tony Stark out on a date. When he and Peter showed up for Sunday dinner, Dum Dum, Jim, Gabe, Jacques, and James had wanted to know what he had planned for the big day, confused as to why Bucky and Clint were howling with laughter.

And all of that had been before they’d found out Stark was actually texting him.

First, it was a photo of a holographic representation of the initial attempt to create his heart, followed by a powered up final product, thankfully sitting on a table rather than in someone’s chest. Steve had thanked him for the reference materials, and made an innocent enough remark about enjoying their talk, and then somehow things had spiralled out of control. Tony kept texting back. Steve was too polite not to reply, and couldn’t quite find a way to stop the conversation, either.

Steve had known better than to mention the ongoing communication, but the cat had gotten out of the bag anyway. He’d been in the middle of working on a piece when his phone had vibrated, and since Peter was spending the day with Ben and May, he’d asked Natasha to take a peek to make sure everything was okay.

“Well, well, well. _Tony_ wants to know if you ever wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because of Ed Hardy,” Natasha read, and Steve felt his stomach flip-flop painfully. “You’re texting with him?”

“I think he’s nervous about the tattoo. I’m just being polite.”

“Hm. Want me to reply?” Natasha offered, sounding far too pleased with herself. “ _I don’t wake up sweaty, because I sleep naked. Trust, but verify._ ”

“Don’t you dare.”

Steve paused in his work to give her The Look. Her smile was still too smug for his taste when she set the phone down and backed out of his station, her proposed message thankfully unsent. 

Since his friends were horrible gossips, everyone knew about his and Tony’s little ongoing conversation, and hadn’t shut up about it since.

“Sure you don’t wanna postpone?” From the sound of it, Clint was spinning his chair in circles. Steve glanced over his shoulder to confirm, found Hawkeye watching him with a shiteating grin plastered across his face. “Maybe have some more time to lay the groundwork before finally getting your hands on his half naked body?”

“Go on and get it out of your system now,” Steve suggested, finishing up his station prep, “but I want it professional when he shows up.”

Clint halted his chair mid-spin, hopping to his feet to snap off a salute. “Don’t worry, Cap, I’ll behave. Can’t say the same about Bucky, though.”

“Well, how ‘bout you take him out, so I don’t have to worry?”

“No can do, boss. Nat’s finishing up that back piece for him tonight since the shop is closed.”

Steve exhaled sharply through his nose, then made a final adjustment to his tattoo gun before sealing up the whole tray with plastic wrap. There was no point in asking Bucky to keep his mouth shut—if anything, that would probably make it worse—but he trusted his brother not to behave in a way that might jeopardize the shop’s reputation. Teasing the living shit out of Steve after Stark left was a different story altogether.

Really, there was no point in getting upset. His friends meant well. After he’d adopted Peter, everyone had shut up about his lack of a love life for a while, but it _had_ been years, so he supposed he was due for some meddling. It wasn’t as if anyone actually thought there was anything going on between him and Tony, he was just a convenient excuse to remind Steve that there was more to life than work and parenting.

The thing was, Steve had no interest in romance, or dating, or even casual sex. Masturbation got him by just fine, and then he could spend the rest of his time focusing on important things. The idea of changing up his routine in order to accommodate another person sounded like a nightmare, especially when the odds were stacked against a relationship working out long term anyway. Besides, no kid needed the confusion of people walking in and out of their life, especially not one with Peter’s background.

Of course, none of that explained why his heart started beating faster at the sound of bells chiming, signalling someone had entered the shop. Behind him, Clint cackled to himself, and Steve had to fight his impulse to shove the guy off of his chair. Instead, he headed for the front, ignoring Clint’s quiet sing-song call of, “Ohh, loverboy!”

Sure enough, Tony Stark was standing there fiddling with his phone, looking far less photoshoot ready than he had been the first time they’d met. Gone was the expensive, well tailored suit; a hoodie, jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers had taken its place. Somehow, it made him even more appealing, which wasn't a thought Steve was comfortable having, so he squashed it, hard.

"Hey, Tony."

A thousand watt smile was aimed in his direction, and Steve could swear he felt the force of it like a blow to the solar plexus. He could only return the smile weakly, and shake the offered hand as Tony stepped forward, phone disappearing into his back pocket.

“Is it weird that I’ve got a whole kid on Christmas morning feeling going on?”

“No, that sounds about right,” Steve said. Tony was still shaking his hand.

“Pepper thinks I should be getting something coffee themed, by the way.”

Steve was somewhat confused by the nature of Tony’s relationship with Pepper. There was obviously love and respect between the two, but she sounded more like Tony’s keeper than his girlfriend. And yet, she was worked into almost every conversation, so there was always a chance that she and Tony just weren’t public about their affair.

“Is Ms. Potts joining us?”

Tony shook his head, and finally realized he was still holding Steve’s hand. “Sorry,” he said, pulling a face as he finally let go. “Uh, no, she’s back on the West Coast until this merger goes through. I’d tell you more, but it’s incredibly boring, and I zoned out about ten seconds into the debriefing. I really only need to know where to sign, anyway.”

“I didn’t realize you were so far removed from the day to day of your business.” Steve hadn’t meant for it to sound judgemental, but he guessed it came off that way if the faltering of Tony’s smile was any indication.

“Pepper is amazing at her job. Way better than I ever was. I trust her, and she trusts me not to destroy Research and Development, so…” Tony shrugged, both hands finding their way into his pockets, shoulders a bit hunched.

Before Steve could attempt to smooth over any potentially ruffled feathers, loud throat clearing was heard, and Tony was leaning to the left in order to peer around Steve. “That would be Clint.”

“Hawkeye,” Clint clarified. “Bucky wants me to order pizza. Any takers?”

“Has anyone in the history of the world ever actually said no to an offer of pizza?” 

Tony brushed his way past Steve, shook Clint’s hand, and accepted the menu that had been brought along. Clint grinned at him wolfishly, mouthing, "I'd hit that,” to Steve while Tony was otherwise occupied with scanning the potential toppings. Steve glared, but could feel the back of his neck heating up with embarrassment.

“I’m fine with regular old pizza.”

Tony looked up, his expression surprisingly hesitant. “Is it bad that I want pepperoni _and_ sausage?”

“Hells no,” Clint answered, “we can share. Bucky wants _pineapple_ , the heathen.”

“Yeah, no, gross.”

Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about the easy high-five Clint and Tony exchanged, or about the arm Clint draped around Tony’s shoulders in order to lead him back into the shop.

"Dunno if Steve mentioned, but we're all really psyched that you picked our shop."

"After reading about the place I'm just happy you'll take me as a customer," Tony laughed. "I should probably confess—I _am_ an asshole. Enough of one that I ignored that part of your sign and came in anyway."

"We're all assholes," Clint said, making a sweeping gesture toward Steve's station.

"Speak for yourself." Natasha had made herself at home in Steve's seat, and was smiling coyly. "Tony."

"Natasha.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment before Natasha rose from Steve’s seat, and held out her hand. Tony snorted, pulled an envelope from his back pocket, and placed it atop Natasha’s upturned palm.

“I’ve been assured that these are the best seats in the house.” To Steve’s surprise, an entirely genuine smile spread across Natasha’s face, and she leaned forward to brush her lips against Tony’s cheek. “Pepper sends her regards, by the way.”

“Be sure to send mine in return.”

Clint made a little whining noise. “Wait, why the hell do you get presents?”

“Because I _deserve_ presents.” Natasha opened the envelope, and purred contentedly. From where he was standing, Steve was able to see that it contained two tickets to the ballet, and was surprised by the way his heart lurched. Jealousy wasn’t something he had a lot of experience with, so it took a moment to recognize what he was feeling. Although, if Tony was taking Natasha to the ballet, then he must not be dating Pepper after all.

“Don’t keep him out too late, we have important science to do the morning after.”

Which meant Steve was back to square one as far as Pepper went, but it also left him relieved. The idea of Tony dating Natasha made him uncomfortable.

Natasha tucked the tickets into her top, leaving the envelope on Steve’s station, and narrowed her eyes. “I assume by morning you mean afternoon.”

“If you work all night, afternoon _is_ morning,” Tony countered, batting his eyelashes. “I took the liberty of having you listed as the recipient for the rest of the season. I figured you’d kill me with your pinky or something if I tracked down your home address, so they’ll just be sent to the shop.”

Natasha gave Tony a little pat on the cheek as she brushed by, Clint trailing after her, clearly in search of fresh gossip. Tony watched them go, then grinned up at Steve, standing a bit too close for comfort. “Alone at last.”

“Have a seat,” Steve suggested. He turned his back to Tony, taking a bit more time than was necessary to retrieve his sketchbook. Hopefully Tony hadn’t noticed the blush that had been conjured up by his harmless flirting. “I know I sent photos, but you should look again, just to be sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Tony answered easily. When Steve turned around to hand him the book, he found Tony staring at the framed photo of Peter that he kept at his station. Tony’s eyes seemed to take in every last detail before shifting to study Steve’s face. He had the distinct impression that Tony—unlike most of the well-intentioned ‘he looks just like you’ people he met while out with Peter—had figured out they weren’t biologically related. “Cute kid.”

Steve felt the muscles of his jaw tighten, even though there had been nothing judgemental in Tony’s voice. “That’s my son.”

“How old?”

Tony was still smiling, so Steve really had no reason to feel defensive. It was a cute photo, and people commented on it all the time, but this felt confusingly intrusive somehow in a way that Steve disliked. As a result, his tone of voice made it sound like the topic of conversation was unwelcome. “About four and a half.”

As he watched, Tony ducked his head, focusing on the sketchbook. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “Didn’t mean to overstep the bounds. Uh, yup, still going with the second option.” 

There was a bit of a kicked puppy look in his eyes when he handed back the sketchbook, and Steve felt like an asshole. It wasn’t Tony’s fault he was having this effect on Steve. Tony was just being friendly, he didn’t know anything about the solid week of teasing Steve had suffered through, or have any control over Steve’s inability to ignore his physical attractiveness.

“Peter’s parents died in a plane crash,” Steve blurted, wanting to fix the awkwardness somehow, and feeling as if he was doing a poor job of it. “He’s been with me since he was two.”

“He’s lucky to have you.” Tony was staring at the photo again, expression unreadable.

Steve watched him, then tapped the sketchbook. “I’ll go get the transfer ready.”

He wasn’t surprised in the least when he ran into Natasha. “He’s probably thinking about his own parents,” she said softly, making it clear she’d been eavesdropping. 

Steve groaned softly, hanging his head. Somehow he’d completely forgotten about the Starks’ car crash. He’d only been nine when it had happened, but could still remember watching some of the news coverage with Bucky.

“Guess even rich kids can be orphans,” Bucky had muttered before skulking off.

“I’m an idiot.”

Nat elbowed him, forcing him to look up. “Steve Rogers,” she whispered, making his name sound like an admonishment, “do you _actually_ have a crush on Tony?”

“No.”

“So why are you blushing?”

Steve snatched up his transfer sheet, and glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tony was playing with his phone when Steve returned, but shoved it out of sight quickly, as if he might get into trouble. It was oddly endearing.

“I figured we could get started, then take a pizza break. Depending on how you’re doing, we might want to save the color for a follow-up.”

“I shall defer to your expertise,” Tony answered, sitting up a bit straighter. He motioned to his shirt. “Guessing it’s time to strip?”

Steve nodded, trying to remember what he normally did when clients were disrobing. Typically, he didn’t care one way or another—the Army had a way of desensitizing you to nudity—but there was nothing typical about Tony Stark. He stared down at the transfer sheet, but his eyes were drawn back up as Tony shrugged out of his hoodie.

“I can hang that up for you,” Steve offered, and Tony tossed over the hoodie.

By the time he turned back around, Tony was shirtless. He’d seemed like he was in good enough shape, but Steve hadn’t expected the amount of muscle definition that was currently on display, especially in his arms. Tony either spent a bit of time in the gym, or his work was more physically demanding than Steve had assumed. Whatever he was doing was working, though, leaving Steve unable to tear his eyes away.

Clint let loose with a wolf whistle. “Looking good, Stark.”

“I’m telling Bucky.”

“I’m deaf, not blind, Nat,” Clint whined. “He’d agree with me, anyway.”

While Steve could feel himself blushing yet again, Tony thankfully seemed completely unphased by the commentary from the peanut gallery. He just grinned, scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and then looked up at Steve through his lashes. “Ready whenever you are,” he said, while Clint and Nat continued bickering in the background.

“When you two are done being children, do me a favor, and put on some music,” Steve asked, tugging on a pair of nitrile gloves. “And get outta my station.”

Once the gloves were on, and he was unwrapping his tray, it was far easier to set aside his inappropriate fascination for Stark. In some ways, it was a little like preparing for a military operation. Check and recheck the equipment, review the plan in your mind, prep as much as possible, and then surrender to the inevitability of it all.

“Is the scar sensitive?”

Tony looked down at his chest as if he’d forgotten about the surgical scar running down the center. “Nope, been all healed up for a while now.”

Steve nodded, and waved a disposable razor in the air. “Scootch forward for me.” Tony giggled, either from nerves, or just finding the prospect of being shaved amusing.

“Dear Penthouse,” he said softly, as Steve shaved his chest. Steve pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle his smile. “Hey,” Tony whispered, waiting for Steve to look up before he continued. “Is it weird that I kinda dig them watching?”

Steve turned, spotted Natasha and Clint standing nearby, looking as innocent as you please as they ate Twizzlers, and watched Tony getting prepped. With a sigh, he turned back around, just in time to see Tony making kissy faces at the two. Unable to help himself, he snorted unattractively, which seemed to please Tony to no end.

“So you _are_ capable of laughter,” Tony teased quietly. He was looking at Steve as if expecting to be chastised, and for some reason that made it much easier to smile back, and relax.

“Yes, Tony,” he said as if he was placating Peter.

The sound of Frank Sinatra drifted through the speakers as he finished up. Before too long he had the transfer in place, made Tony inspect the placement, and then it was time to get to work. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Steve suggested, and Tony exhaled. Steve gave him a moment to begin breathing normally, then looked up into his face. “Last chance to back out.”

“Not my style.” As soon as the gun kicked on and Steve actually touched needles to skin, Tony made a soft, surprised noise. “Actually, that’s not half bad. Vibration kinda feels weird, but I thought it’d hurt more.”

Steve hummed an agreement. “Never bothered me until I had work done along my side. Right over the ribs hurt worse than getting shot.”

“I can safely say that is a sentence I didn’t expect to hear today.” Tony kept his voice low. “Should I not be talking? I probably should have asked that before you started. I’m told I have issues with quiet, so it might be a problem if I’m not supposed to talk.”

“Talking is fine,” Steve assured him with a smile. “Not making any sudden movements would be nice, though.”

“That I can do.”

But, oddly enough, Tony lapsed into silence, at least for a little while, allowing Steve the opportunity to lose himself to his work. And that was nice, the steady hum of the gun, the even rise and fall of Tony’s chest. As he relaxed, he allowed himself to notice and appreciate their proximity, the subtle scent of Tony’s cologne, the warmth of his skin.

“This is oddly soothing.”

“Mm hmm,” Steve agreed.

“Sorry if I, uh, upset you earlier. I’m fine when I’m in performance-mode, but one on one I tend to irritate people.”

When Steve paused in order to look at Tony, he found him once again staring at the photo of Peter. “Wasn’t anything you did. I’m a little overprotective where Peter’s concerned. Some people react negatively when finding out I’m a single dad.”

“Really? Huh. You’re like an all American boy, or something. You’d think people would be throwing kids at you.” Steve tensed up, but it was clear from Tony’s expression that he was being serious. “Not that I want people to _throw_ children. You know what I mean.”

Steve shrugged, then took a fortifying breath when he heard the chiming of bells indicating that Bucky had arrived. “Did I miss pizza?” The question was immediately followed by barking, and the sound of Clint whooping from the back office.

“No animals in the shop,” Steve shouted, turning off the gun.

“Guessing that’s your brother?” Tony asked quietly. 

Bucky called out, “Don’t worry, I’m takin’ him upstairs.” 

Steve nodded, staring back at Tony, while Bucky added, “Clint, Steve says take Lucky upstairs!”

Tony laughed, and they both watched as Clint came out of the back, hands flying as he signed emphatically. Bucky signed back, just as forcefully, then grabbed the sides of Clint’s face and planted a kiss on him. There was a fair bit of back and forth before Clint gave him a shove, a smack on the back of the head, and grabbed Lucky’s leash.

“Come on, pizza dog. I’ll bring yours upstairs when it gets here.”

Bucky watched Clint’s departure with a sappy grin on his face, and Steve had that familiar happy sad feeling. Everyone could see how much the two men cared for each other, but it wasn’t until they’d come back home that they’d tried anything more than friendship. Steve was glad of it, because seeing how inseparable they’d become, he wasn’t sure what would have happened if one of them had been killed in action. They’d earned their happily ever after together, but it was still strange for Steve to see his brother making out with Clint.

“How’s your rich boy holding up?” Bucky asked in French. “Did I miss him crying?”

“No tears, alas,” Tony answered, his own French flawless. “Although, I _was_ very moved by your touching moment with Hawkeye. Mostly in my pants, mind you, but moved nonetheless. Oh, also, I speak German, Japanese, Italian, and Russian, in case me _not_ understanding was your intention there.”

Steve glared at his brother, feeling mortified, and then just plain irritated when Bucky burst out laughing. “Okay, I officially like him,” Bucky declared. To make things even worse, he very obviously took his time checking Tony out before nodding, and pulling his hair up into a messy bun. “Clint’s right, I’d totally hit that.”

Tony laughed, hopping out of his seat to extend his left hand for a shake, tilting his head to the side once he had a grip on Bucky’s bionic hand. “This is the 200 series, right?” Bucky nodded. “Do me a favor? Talk to me before you upgrade. The 600s are in beta right now, and I can get you in like Flynn. The tactile sensitivity is through the roof.”

“How ‘bout the pressure inconsistencies?”

Watching the exchange, Steve had that same uncomfortable sensation from earlier in the evening. His friends weren’t the sort of people to just open up and welcome someone new to their ranks. The only reason most of them even liked each other was because they’d all saved each other’s asses on so many occasions that they didn’t really have a choice. And yet, here they all were, seemingly ready, willing, and able to just let Tony Stark into their lives like he _belonged_ there. It made him feel edgy, like they were still teasing him, but being really, really sneaky about it.

“Food should be here soon. I wanted to get the outline done before we break.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let ya get back to it.” Bucky gave Tony’s shoulder a playful slap, and then leaned over to attempt to muss up Steve’s hair. His reflexes were good enough that he dodged without issue. “I’ll go make sure Clint and Lucky haven’t trashed your place.”

“That would be nice, thanks.”

Tony watched him go, a crooked little smile still firmly in place. “You have good people, Rogers.”

"They drive me crazy," Steve sighed, motioning for Tony to sit back down, "but I don't know what I'd do without them."

"My bestie is stationed in Afghanistan," Tony announced, trying for casual and failing. “He’s a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force. Betting you’d like him.”

“Well, next time he’s stateside, bring him to the shop,” Steve suggested.

Tony’s voice was low, intimate, and made the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up at attention. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

When the pizza finally showed up, he was grateful for the excuse to put some space between himself and Tony, while simultaneously concerned by what his friends might do or say.

They all sat together in the back, Clint and Tony turning their noses up at Bucky’s choice of toppings, while his brother all but inhaled his dinner. Steve almost choked when Natasha subtly interrogated Tony, establishing that he was, in fact, single, all while shooting Steve pointed looks. If Tony noticed what she was doing, he didn’t let on, seemingly happy to answer whatever questions she put to him.

Bucky and Clint carried on like always, while Natasha engaged with Tony enough that Steve could be a bit quieter, just observe. Time and again, Tony would turn to him with a quiet remark, or a smile, as if worried that Steve wouldn’t feel included. It was… strange, but not in a bad way. 

It reminded him a bit of his short-lived romance with Peggy, of going out, watching the way people gravitated toward her, the ease with which she _fit_ in any situation. No matter what, though, her eyes would find his, and she’d share a smile that was for him and him alone. She would touch him, or whisper in his ear, sharing little moments of connection intended to remind him that they were there _together_.

Thinking of Peggy only served to remind Steve that—according to his brother—he had a type, and Tony ticked off all the boxes, right down to the feistiness. He also set off all the alarm bells in Steve’s head. Maybe, if it had just been him he needed to worry about, Steve would have let himself consider the idea of asking Tony out. Even if he was a billionaire, and way out of Steve’s league, he was willing to bet Stark wouldn’t say no to an offer of no strings attached wild sex. The idea of it being anything more than that was preposterous.

But there was Peter to think about. The last thing Steve wanted was to be part of some tabloid sex scandal. _Billionaire Genius Philanthropist Caught Slumming It with Tattooed Veteran from Brooklyn_. Even if it was a one night stand, press vultures would follow him around trying to get a quote, would be snapping off photos without his permission, or going through his garbage. Being who he was, it would end up with him being arrested for assaulting paparazzi, and people questioning whether he was fit to be Peter’s father.

The idea of it was sobering enough that Steve got to his feet, and started cleaning up the remnants from dinner. 

“There’s a bathroom through there if you need to use it before we finish up,” Steve said, interrupting a conversation between Tony and Bucky.

Tony blinked, mouth closing slowly, as if just remembering he was there to get work done, not to socialize. “Uh, right, thanks.”

Steve ignored the looks his friends shot in his direction as Tony went to wash his hands, threw out the trash, and went to wash up himself. By the time he was done, Tony was back in the chair, looking contrite, and for the thousandth time that evening, Steve felt a twinge of shame over his behavior. Tony was only being polite, and sociable.

“How does it feel?” Steve managed to inject some friendliness into the question, and Tony seemed to relax.

“Not bad, actually. It looks great so far, by the way.”

Steve took a moment to examine everything, satisfied that he’d be able to finish the color without issue. As he put on a fresh pair of gloves, one of his horrible friends put on Ella Fitzgerald’s _Pure Ella_ album, the sounds of “Someone to Watch Over Me” drifting through the air, sending a shiver down his spine. 

It was tempting to tear off his gloves, stalk through the shop, and turn off the record player. It would have made him look crazy, though, so instead he fired up the gun, kept his mouth shut, and got back to work.

“I love this album,” Tony said softly, right about when “My One and Only” came on. Steve made the mistake of looking up into Tony’s warm brown eyes while Ella sang, “What am I gonna do if you turn me down, when I'm so crazy over you?”

Steve looked away again, but his heart was hammering in his chest, and it felt like the tips of his ears were on fire. “Me too,” he managed, doing his best to keep his head down, and keep the conversation to a minimum as he finished up the piece.

Somehow, he got through the rest of the appointment without incident, mostly by thinking up an appropriate course of action in case Tony found himself in the market for another tattoo. He seemed comfortable enough with Natasha, and Steve was happy enough to handle the art side of things, as long as she’d be the one getting hands on with Tony Stark. Running through scenarios and evaluating possible tactics was oddly comforting.

Finally, the moment came where he pulled off his gloves, and had Tony examine the finished work. The happiness seemed genuine, Tony unable to wipe the grin off of his face, and Steve allowed himself to feel satisfied with a job well done.

Tony grinned at him through the discussion of aftercare, probably not hearing a word of it, so Steve handed over a print out of instructions, along with some lotion containing Vitamin E and Lavender Oil, melancholy warring with relief as he slowly herded Tony to the front of the shop.

“This has been seriously awesome,” Tony babbled, thankfully wearing his shirt again. “Thank you.”

Natasha was still working on Bucky’s back piece, so Steve thought he might actually be in the clear as far as any parting awkwardness went, until Clint called out, “Make sure you come back for touch-ups, man!”

“Will do,” Tony shouted back, somehow finding a way to smile even wider. He shrugged on his hoodie, adding quietly enough that it was clear he was speaking only to Steve, “And, uh, maybe we can have dinner when I do. My treat this time?”

Steve took a deep breath, fully intending to brush aside the friendly offer. Only, his mouth had other ideas, because what he said instead was, “Sure, that’d be nice.”

“Great. I’m holding you to that, no take backs,” Tony teased, his lashes looking exceptionally long as he smiled shyly up at Steve. “Okay, I’ll just, ah, be going then. Thanks again.”

“Yup,” was all Steve could manage, dread and panic washing over him in waves.

With one last smile thrown over his shoulder, Tony stepped out of Steve’s life again. He stood there staring at the door for a long moment, thinking of when he’d first come back from the war, and everything had seemed almost ominously changed, his mind still insisting he was in a high risk situation, surrounded by potential threats. It had been surreal, and confusing, and often upsetting, but had lessened over time.

And there he was again, feeling as if the world had been turned inside out, changed in some way that only he could perceive. 

As if he’d already passed the point of no return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon time! Since Steve & Bucky grew up with the Howling Commandos as their fathers, I like to think they learned French in the home, thanks to Jacques and Gabe.
> 
> See you next Monday! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony plans a date, and maybe more of his future than is advisable. Rhodey and Bruce are good bros. Steve brings reality like nobody else can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance, because this chapter ends in a way that might make you scream. Please feel free to scream _at_ me for being an evil woman, but do understand everything is for a reason. *cough* Oh, Tony. Oh, Steve. Oh my.

Tony didn’t believe in miracles, or fate, but he was fully onboard with the idea of chemistry. As in, there was some undeniable chemical reaction going on between him and Steve Rogers. It was the only thing that made sense, because without intending to, he’d been stupid enough to put himself out there, and ask for a date. And as he stood in the shop, screaming inside his head over the catastrophic mouth-filter failure, Steve had one-upped him on the crazy-front by actually _accepting_.

He was still a little hazy on how he got home, but Tony was almost positive he floated there. Or, you know, he drove his car way too fast, blasting AC/DC, and smiling so hard his face hurt.

Because he had a date.

The actual panic over having a date didn’t set in until later, and he was almost positive Pepper now regretted her choice of birthday present. After the fifth call to run potential date ideas past her, Pepper had shunted him to voicemail, and he’d moved on, figuring Rhodey might be a better sounding board, anyway.

“You _cannot_ take this guy to Zürich on a first date.”

This bit of advice had been given mostly through a yawn, prompting Tony to look at a clock, and feel almost guilty. It was three-thirty-ish in the morning in Afghanistan. 

“Why not? What’s wrong with Zürich?”

Tony could practically hear the eye roll through the phone. “I can’t believe I have to explain this to you,” Rhodey mumbled. “There are many, many reasons why this idea is horrible, but I’ll skip to the biggest. The guy has a kid at home, Tones. I doubt he factored in a seven hour flight when he booked a babysitter.”

Which was a good point.

“Okay. Right. Something local, then?”

“Mm hmm. Maybe something down-to-Earth, while you’re at it. I’m used to your crazy ass, and I still get uncomfortable when you forget that money has actual value. No buying out a restaurant for the night, or impromptu helicopter rides to New Jersey for donuts, or having Pavarotti sing tableside.”

Tony flopped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The more time he spent trying to plan the perfect date, the more he became convinced that he was well and truly fucked. Aside from the fact that he was mouthwateringly gorgeous, Steve had nothing in common with the people Tony had dated back when dating was a thing he still did. Rhodey was right—going the flashy route was guaranteed to land him on the receiving end of that disapproving look Steve had perfected.

Actually, the disapproving look had made an appearance a few times over the course of Tony’s visit to the shop. One minute they were having a completely enjoyable, bordering on flirtatious conversation, and the next Steve was looking at him like he was an agent provocateur, sent to infiltrate, entice, and then implicate. He was used to saying the wrong thing, but usually he could backtrack and figure out where he’d gone wrong. With Steve, it was all a big mystery, which was why Tony was still in a state of disbelief over Steve saying yes to the date. He wasn’t about to question it, of course, happy to benefit from Steve’s momentary lapse of reason.

“Thanks, Rhodey.”

Somewhere in Afghanistan, Rhodey sighed, the familiar sound making Tony smile despite himself. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

“You saw the photos in the article I sent, right?”

“No, no way, this isn’t how you deal with hot people. This is how you get when you have _feelings_. Seriously, how are you already warm and squishy over this guy?”

Tony’s insides seemed to shudder and attempt to rearrange themselves, leaving him squirming, and anxious. “Hard to explain. He has… presence. Hey, he said to bring you by the shop the next time you’re in town, so feel free to fly home tomorrow so I have an excuse to go back before I’m ready for touch-ups.”

“How ‘bout you just report back, let me know how it goes?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Honeybuns. Miss you.”

“Miss you, too. Talk to you soon.”

Tony spun halfheartedly in his chair, phone cradled in his lap, allowing himself to imagine a best case scenario where he didn’t scare Steve off. Oddly enough, in his experience, kids liked him. Pepper claimed it was because they sensed he was one of them, maturity-wise. He’d never _dated_ someone with a kid before. That seemed like a pretty big minefield to navigate. Although, Peter was still young enough that he might be more open to the idea of someone invading his territory, and staking a claim on his dad. 

Sure, the odds of Steve actually letting him have a second date were slim to none, but he’d thought the same thing about getting a first date, and yet here he was, agonizing over potential places for them to go. So, sooner or later, he’d need to give careful consideration to the fact that by dating Steve Rogers he was opening himself up to the potential of parenting another human being.

Tony looked around, half expecting the workshop to crumble around him, or the power to go out, or something else to indicate the Universe’s opinion on the matter. Then he waited for his own panic to manifest, but instead, he just sort of felt warm and fuzzy at the thought of watching Steve Rogers tucking Peter in at night, or doing other fatherly things. He was willing to bet Steve would leave Howard Stark in the dust as far as fathering went.

Maybe it was his age, or the time he’d spent disconnected from the spotlight, but the more he thought about it, the more the idea of having a little family grew on him. And yes, he was fully aware of how insane it was to be sitting in his workshop, daydreaming about trips to the zoo with a kid he’d never met, and a man he hadn’t even kissed yet, but still.

Of course, this meant getting the first date right was imperative, so Tony spent the next week researching, and confusing his staff in R&D with questions about their lovelife, and getting lectured by Pepper about appropriate workplace conversations, and sending Steve innocent little text messages in order to maintain their ongoing conversation, while hopefully not annoying the shit out of him in the process.

Ultimately, he decided to keep it in Brooklyn, and Tony was pretty confident Steve would approve of his choice on multiple fronts. It was an intimate little Italian place with a good reputation for proper, rustic Italian cooking, reasonable prices, and casual attire was encouraged. The chef-owners were a married couple in their late-thirties that had left Europe in 2000 to pursue the American dream, and frequently had their two young children in the restaurant with them, so that most people reported it was like going over a loved one’s house for dinner, rather than going to a restaurant.

He’d already decided to take the Tesla Roadster, because all of his cars were flashy, but that at least had the benefit of being eco-friendly. Which prompted him to take a long, hard look at his selection of rides. Most of them seated two people, and the ones that actually _had_ back seats weren’t exactly set up for car seats, or safe for kids. Tony figured he’d wait until the second date before deciding what to sell, and what a good replacement would be.

Once his plans were finalized, Tony was left wondering when he should actually head back to the shop for his touch-ups. Although, he wasn’t sure he’d need any. The work was healing beautifully, mostly because Tony was following every single recommendation in Steve’s print out to the letter.

It had been strange at first, catching sight of the tattoo when changing, or showering, or in the mirror when brushing his teeth, but the artwork was already becoming a part of him in a way he hadn’t entirely expected. And, weirdo that he was, he really, _really_ liked knowing that Steve was the artist responsible. The entire process had felt almost confusingly intimate, but in a surprisingly non-sexual way. Whatever it was, Tony liked it, and—much as Bucky had predicted while they were chatting over pizza—he was already thinking of there being a next time.

“Ground control to Major Stark.” Tony blinked himself back to reality only to find Bruce Banner watching him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You owe me.”

Tony accepted the cup of coffee Bruce was offering, and sighed contentedly as he sipped. “You’re too good to me, pumpkin. Whatever would I do without you?”

Bruce gave Tony a pat on the shoulder before firing up a simulation. “You owe me for more than the coffee.”

“Hows that?”

“Since you had me send that photo, our mutual friend hasn’t stopped teasing me about how wrong my understanding of sexting is. She also says you’re healed up enough that anytime next week should work.”

To Bruce’s surprise and possible dismay, Tony set down his coffee, grabbed him by his lapels, and planted a kiss on him. “Not in front of the children, Tony,” Bruce admonished, and when he peered over Bruce’s shoulder, Tony saw the rest of R&D quickly looking away. “They’re so impressionable.”

“That was a platonic, scientific kiss,” Tony announced. “Please disregard.”

“I’m not sure that helped any,” Bruce said with a sigh, but he was smiling around his inferior cup of tea, so Tony wasn’t too worried.

“Hey, seriously, thanks,” Tony said a minute later, realizing the kiss might not count as much as the words.

“Happy to help. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so...”

“Pathetic?” Tony provided when Bruce failed to finish his sentence.

Bruce shoved him, gently. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of _normal_ , actually. It’s sweet.”

Tony squirmed, because more or less anyone he’d spoken to as of late had made a comment one way or the other as to the adorable nature of his crush. It was starting to freak him out. “ _You’re_ sweet. Shut up.”

Because he was a good friend, Bruce let it go, and didn’t say anything when twenty minutes later, Tony fished out his cellphone, and proceeded to spend the next hour agonizing over texting Steve. He composed, re-composed, deleted, stared at the ceiling, but finally came up with something.

_Is there a night next week that works for you?_

And then spent the rest of his time in the lab obsessively checking his phone for a reply. Bruce refrained from commenting, but gave him a friendly shoulder squeeze on the way out. Tony had to use every ounce of his self control to keep from sending a follow up, which was probably good, because around six he finally got a reply.

_Depends. Need the whole shop, or are you okay with being seen?_

Tony hadn’t thought about that. His preference would be to have the place to himself, but if they were going to be seeing each other, it wasn’t exactly reasonable to expect Steve to empty the place anytime he was coming by. Besides, he didn’t want to make work for Steve, or come off like he was ashamed of getting a tattoo.

_Keep it business as usual._

He stared at the little word bubble indicating Steve was in the process of replying, trying to cope with the anticipation.

_Great. Thursday at 7 work?_

Tony couldn’t reply affirmatively fast enough. Of course, then he spent an hour or two researching how long he could reasonably expect touch-ups to take, getting nowhere fast. He asked Bruce to ask Natasha, and the next thing he knew, they’d exchanged numbers, and Bruce was thankfully out of the message relay game.

Natasha said to give himself forty minutes, because she didn’t think Steve was going to have to do much, considering how well everything had healed. And then for some reason, he decided to send her a link to the place he’d picked out for them to have dinner, which led to her calling him.

“You’re having dinner? When did this happen?”

Tony had a moment where he couldn’t get his mouth to work. “ _Shit_.” He’d assumed Steve would have said something, but maybe he was embarrassed? Or wanted to see how things went before he told anyone? “Okay, so, what’s it going to take for you to keep this to yourself?”

Natasha snorted. “Please. This is too good to share.”

He didn’t bother hiding his sigh of relief. “Thanks. I frequently fail at the concept of privacy, and require almost constant reassurance about certain things. Didn’t occur to me, but I’m guessing that Rogers is probably the polar opposite.”

“You didn’t answer my original question.”

“Asked him the night I was there, if you must know.”

Natasha hummed on the other end of the line. “He’ll love the restaurant,” was all she said before hanging up.

And with that, all that was left was the waiting.

Which. Sucked. _Horribly_.

Until suddenly it was Thursday, and Tony was clock watching, and nervous, and driving everyone around him insane. He got kicked out of R&D, which was probably for the best, then got ready way too early, and had plenty of time to second guess his wardrobe. Also, there were no emergencies, or traffic accidents, which meant Tony arrived twenty minutes early. At least that left him with time to calm down.

Steve seemed a little nervous himself when Tony finally headed into the shop, which made him feel a bit better, at least. He also looked great, the blue of his shirt bringing out the depth of color in his eyes. It went well with that pasty, Irish complexion. Not that Tony commented on this, considering there were people in the shop, and he didn’t want to embarrass Steve.

“I can tell you followed my instructions.” Steve seemed pleasantly surprised, and Tony mentally high-fived himself. “This shouldn’t take too long at all.”

“It turned out great,” Tony gushed, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way as he watched Steve pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. Definitely not how he was used to dates starting, but Tony had no complaints whatsoever.

“Well, good. I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Tony desperately wanted to say something about the restaurant he’d picked out, but didn’t want to risk them being overheard. Clint and Natasha were each with clients of their own, but Tony wasn’t taking any chances.

Instead of babbling, he studied the furrow in Steve’s brow, and admired the tiny bit of visible stubble he was sporting, and the man’s eyelashes, which were darker than his hair, and absolutely gorgeous. Steve must have felt him staring, because he lifted the needles away from Tony’s skin, looked up, and turned _pink_ when Tony said, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” he said after clearing his throat. There was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth indicating he was fighting off a smile.

Tony was fully committed to seeing if he could get the full smile to materialize, but his plan was somewhat derailed by the arrival of Steve’s brother, and someone he hadn’t met yet.

“Hey, you came back!” Bucky said by way of greeting. “Sam, this is Tony. Tony, this is Sam.”

“I’d shake, but Steve will yell at me if I move.”

“Sounds about right,” Sam agreed, smiling easily. Tony caught Steve’s eye roll and just managed to keep from laughing. “Hey, ah, not to sound all fan-boy over here, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to say thank you on behalf of all the veterans I work with that’re benefiting from SI’s shift into prosthetics.”

Tony fought the urge to squirm. “Save the thanks until we’re able to push that bill through Congress. We’re trying to make them free of cost to veterans, and getting nothing but pushback. I’ve been trying to talk Pepper into starting a campaign to rename Congress to Cockblock already, but she’s not a fan.”

Steve made a noise that could either have been an indication of disapproval, or laughter. Sam and Bucky went ahead and laughed, which was something, at least. “Well, consider it an advance on gratitude, man.”

“Tattoo looks great,” Bucky said, thankfully changing the subject so Tony didn’t have to. “Decide what you want next?”

“Got some ideas.”

There was a shout of, “Where’s my candy?” from nearby. Bucky pulled a face, and trudged off to appease Clint.

“Okay, we’re looking good,” Steve announced, dabbing at the tattoo and squinting critically. “Let me just get you cleaned up, and we can go.”

And that was the moment when Tony’s evening took a turn for the worse.

Sam, smile firmly in place, said, “Got plans already? I was gonna see if you wanted to grab some chow.”

Which was fine, right up until Steve pulled off his gloves, turned around with a big old smile of his own, and answered, “Oh, yeah, me and Tony were doing dinner. You should come with us.”

Tony had no idea what his face looked like, because he’d gone numb, and couldn’t quite communicate with his body. His fingers had paused mid-buttoning, and he was staring at the side of Steve’s face, which was all sunshine and light and beaming at the guy he’d just invited to tag along on their date.

“You don’t mind?” Sam asked, looking to Tony for reassurance.

Whether _he_ minded or not, _Steve_ obviously didn’t, which meant Tonly really had no choice. He either told Sam to fuck off, and they had an uncomfortable dinner together—this was assuming Steve still agreed to go—or he acted like everything was cool, and they had a different sort of uncomfortable dinner together. Either way, the idea of an actual date with Steve had gone up in smoke.

Which probably meant Steve had never actually intended for the dinner to be a date in the first place. 

And if that was the case, it also meant Tony was the biggest fucking idiot on the planet.

Because, as his heart was crumbling to dust inside of his chest, he was noticing how close Sam was standing, and the way Steve was smiling at him, and coming to the realization that being a single parent didn’t necessarily mean someone was available. 

“Sure, the more the merrier,” Tony managed to choke out, ducking his head to finish buttoning his shirt. “Which, ah… Meant to ask. Did you have anywhere in mind?”

“The diner across the street does all-day breakfast.”

“You and your breakfast burritos,” Sam chided, and Tony wanted to cry.

Instead, he swallowed around the lump in his throat, thankful for years of having the press shoving microphones and cameras into his face while he tried to do things like attend his parents’ funeral. It was good training for keeping your shit together in front of people. When he looked up again, there was a smile in place.

“I just need to make a quick phone call, and I’m good.”

“Great, we’ll meet you outside in a minute,” Steve said, breaking down his workstation with clean, efficient movements.

So, Tony shrugged his jacket back on, went outside, and made his phone call. 

“Hi, this is Tony Stark. I need to cancel a reservation.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, in the next chapter, we'll all get to live vicariously through Sam "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING, STEVE?" Wilson.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony deserves all of the extra large slices of pie for going on a date that isn't a date, and still managing to find an empty smile for Steve. Of course, he's had a lot of practice at faking. Meanwhile, Steve is good at lying to himself, but thankfully Sam is better at knocking some sense into his gorgeous stubborn head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, a chapter that doesn't end in crushed hopes and dreams!

Steve wanted to hug Sam, he was so happy to see him. He’d spent the entire day wondering how he was going to get through dinner without making an ass of himself, and that was before Tony had showed up looking like he’d stepped off the cover of a magazine. Just the sight of him had Steve’s mind going haywire again.

Thankfully, Sam and Bucky had amazing timing. Having someone else there would make it easier to remember all the reasons why Tony Stark was a bad idea, and prevent him from doing something stupid, like forgetting they weren’t actually on a date. Sam could fill in any awkward silences that arose, and as an added bonus they were right across from the shop, which meant his commute home was nonexistent.

“Yo, are you sure you want me tagging along?” Sam asked as soon as Tony headed outside.

“He’s nice, you’ll like him.”

Sam stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “Alright.”

Tony seemed subdued when they met him outside, and Steve wondered if everything was okay at work. But then Tony smiled, and so he figured he was probably imagining things.

“I think someone said something about breakfast burritos?”

Once they were seated, Steve had a moment of surreality. Something about the fluorescent lighting made Tony look as if he was realer than anything else in the place, and Steve had the oddest compulsion to go back across the street for his sketchbook, so he could try to recreate the effect. There were little flecks of color in Tony's brown eyes that came off almost golden, the light also bringing out the olive tones in his skin. Steve's fingers twitched, wanting the weight of a pencil, if only to reproduce the shadows cast by Tony's eyelashes.

Maybe it was seeing someone famous in a familiar setting that made it seem so strange. Everyone at the shop frequented the diner, to the extent that it was practically a home away from home. Deirdre, their waitress, asked after Peter while seating them, then proceeded to stare at Tony, although she was too polite to come out and ask if he was who she thought he was.

“I already know what Steve wants,” she said with a laugh, “but I’ll leave menus for the rest of you. Can I get you started with drinks?”

Tony’s dazzling smile and his flirtatious request for coffee had Deirdre tittering as she left their table, while Steve wondered why being charming seemed to come so natural to some people. Like everyone who wasn’t him.

“So, Sam, tell me everything,” Tony requested, an arm stretched out along the back of the booth. “You said you work with veterans?”

Sam shot Steve a look he couldn’t decipher, then gave Tony a brief overview of his military career before explaining his work as a counselor, and how he met Steve, Bucky, and the rest. Tony seemed to listen with an intensity that bordered on uncomfortable, as if he was trying desperately not to look at Steve, which was… confusing.

And although he’d expected to take advantage of Sam being there so he could keep his mouth shut, Steve found himself growing desperate for some acknowledgement of his presence. Thankfully, Deirdre came back with coffee and sodas, and took their order.

To Steve’s surprise, Tony said he was fine with just coffee, which was also confusing, since getting dinner was his idea in the first place.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something other than coffee, darling?”

Tony looked a little like he’d been admonished, his big brown eyes full of apology when he propped his chin in his hand and smiled up at their waitress. “Actually, a slice of pie would be amazing. Bring your favorite—I’m not picky. Thank you, Deirdre.”

“The apple is my favorite,” Steve said, groaning inside his head over the lame contribution to the conversation.

But Tony gave him a little smile, even if he kept his eyes lowered. “Of course it is. I bet you even love baseball, and everything.”

Sam chuckled, and Steve felt his brows furrow. “Worse than that, his birthday is on the Fourth of July.”

Across from them, Tony let out a peal of laughter, and watching it cascade across his face made Steve’s heart give a little lurch.

“What’s funny about baseball and the Fourth of July?”

“Nothing,” Tony swore, getting himself under control. His eyes were bright, and the smile trembled for a moment. “Not a thing. Does Peter get jealous because you get fireworks on your birthday?”

“The Captain here is a party pooper about celebrating his birthday,” Sam teased.

Steve sputtered in protest. “It’s more fun celebrating Peter’s.”

Tony took a sip of his coffee, eyes lowered once again. “So what are four years olds into these days, anyway?”

Steve shrugged. “Probably the same stuff as when you were a kid.” Sam kicked him under the table, and he turned to shoot him a look, wondering what the hell the problem was now.

“I’m afraid some of us are lacking in points of reference,” Tony said. “Sam, a little help?”

“Last I checked, he’s obsessed with animals. Pretty sure that aside from Steve, his favorite ‘person’ is Clint’s dog, Lucky.”

“He’s started pretending he’s a dog,” Steve added. “Last night he wanted me to put his dinner in a bowl on the floor.”

Tony snorted. “Kids have the best imaginations. I should start hiring them for Research and Development.” Sam laughed, and Tony waved his hand around theatrically. “I’m not kidding.”

“It’s actually pretty adorable. He transformed back into a little boy pretty quick once he found out doggies can’t have chocolate.”

"Come on," Tony said, making a confusing hand gesture. "I'm willing to bet you've got photographic evidence. Let’s see the feral puppy-child."

Steve felt himself flush. He was pretty sure Tony wasn't teasing him, though, so he fished out his phone, and pulled up the photos, flipping through to one of his many albums dedicated to Peter. As soon as he saw the little face smiling up at him, Steve felt warmth flood through his chest, and wondered how the hell he’d convinced himself that his life was good before Peter came along.

Hesitantly, he handed over the phone, watching as Tony examined it. "Okay if I play the video?"

"As long as you don't mind barking, go for it."

Tony pressed play, and Steve smiled again at the sound of Peter's high pitched barks. The odd thing was, seeing Tony's smile and easy laughter over the video made it obvious that his previous smiles had been a touch too brittle, maybe didn't even reach his eyes.

"Okay, that is a cute kid, right there."

Tony seemed reluctant to hand the phone back, and Steve surprised himself by blurting, "There are plenty of photos. Feel free to flip through."

Those brown eyes flicked up, meeting his own for a fleeting moment, shy and full of _something_. "Yeah?"

"Sure, it's fine."

Steve could feel Sam staring at him, so he stared back, an eyebrow raised in question. Sam's jaw was clenched like he was mad, but he just tilted his head toward Tony and then shook it, so Steve figured whatever it was that upset him was private.

“Wow, this kid gets around. Peter managed to befriend a Viking?” Tony turned the phone, and Sam immediately burst out laughing. Peter was hanging off of the outstretched, very tattooed arm of a big, bearded blond.

“That’s Thor.”

Tony tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing, as if he thought Steve was messing with him. “You know a guy called _Thor_?”

“Thor is his legally given name. He owns the piercing place two doors down from us,” Steve explained.

“Word of advice? Do not poke fun at the man’s name if you meet him,” Sam suggested. “He does not get the joke. Like, at _all_.”

“Poke, piercings, I like what you did there.” Tony had climbed up onto his knees in his seat so that he was half draped over the table, thus allowing himself a better view through the window. “His name is Thor, and his shop is called _Valhalla_? That’s… kind of amazing, actually.” Tony plopped back down into his seat, which left him positioned across from Steve now, rather than Sam. “You know some interesting people, Rogers.”

“They’re sort of our sister store. We’ve been talking about making our partnership something official,” Steve explained. “Lots of tattoo shops offer piercings. We have people come in all the time looking for jewelry, or to get something done. We used to turn them away, but now we send the business to Thor.”

“Guessing they send business your way, in return?” Steve nodded. “Well, let me know if you need any legal help when it comes time to draw up the papers. Pepper has all the best attorneys on speed dial. Some of them already make so much money off of SI that the rest of their work is done pro bono.”

It was nice of him, but Steve had no intention of actually taking Tony up on the offer. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Already moving on, Tony laughed again, and held up the phone, revealing a photo of Steve sprawled on the ground playing dead, Peter standing on him with his arms raised triumphantly.

"Great shot.” He looked to Sam. “Your handiwork?"

Sam shook his head, shrugging, then glared at Steve again. "Not me."

"Oh, Bucky took that after he and Peter teamed up to vanquish me."

"Well, your corpse pose is priceless. I especially like the crossed eyes."

"I'm glad someone appreciates my sacrifice. Gave myself a headache with that."

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but their food had arrived, so he gave Steve a tight smile and handed back the phone.

Deirdre placed Tony's slice of pie on the table last, turning the plate a bit, and patting his shoulder. "Got you an extra large slice, sweetie, and the ice cream is on the house."

"Deirdre, darling, light of my life," Tony beamed up at her, "you complete me."

She laughed, swatted at him, then topped off his cup of coffee before leaving them to their meal.

"How do you do that?" Steve asked before he could stop his mouth.

Tony arched an eyebrow as he finished sipping his coffee, gesturing to his arm. "I'm fully articulated," he explained, lifting and lowering his mug several times. “Comes in handy, let me tell you.”

Fighting off a blush, Steve shook his head. "No, not that. The... _Deirdre_."

For a long moment, Tony stared at him, but then he looked back down at his pie, mouth tight. "You're going to need to be more specific."

Sam mumbled something under his breath, but it was lost to a mouthful of turkey club. "She's normally not that, ah, sweet? Unless you're a regular."

Tony took his time chewing a mouthful of pie, then had another sip of coffee. "How are you able to draw so well?"

Steve felt his brow furrow. "Years and years of practice."

"There's your answer." Tony must have seen he was still dissatisfied. "When I was Peter's age, I was expected to answer questions for the press, or to be a little mouthpiece at charity events,and all to Howard's exacting standards. So… practice. Years and _years_ of practice."

"I can't imagine letting the press talk to Peter."

It came out a bit more venomous than he'd intended, but to his surprise, Tony just smiled. Practice in action, Steve supposed, because now that he was looking, he could see there was nothing behind the smile.

"Of course not," Tony answered, taking another big forkful of pie. "But, unlike Howard, you're a good father. I’m guessing you'd disapprove of _most_ of my childhood."

Feeling like he'd put his foot in his mouth, Steve opted to focus on his breakfast burrito instead. Sam filled in the awkward silence as best he could by bringing up an article he'd read online, but Tony remained subdued, participating enough not to be rude, before ultimately excusing himself for a moment.

As soon as he was gone, Sam twisted in his seat, and hissed, "What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Steve?"

Steve's mouth fell open, and he stared, wondering what the hell has gotten into Sam all of a sudden. "What?"

"You invited me on a _date_?" he snapped, shooting furtive looks over his shoulder to make sure Tony wasn't within earshot.

"Wait, what're you talking about?"

Sam’s eyebrows slowly raised in disbelief. "You're _that_ stupid?"

"I'm not stupid!"

Sam waved his hands. "I'm sorry, no, you're not stupid, you're oblivious! He asked you to dinner, then shows up dressed like that, driving a car that seats exactly _two_ people, and has been doing a pretty good impression of a kicked puppy all night. Which, can’t blame the guy, considering you _brought me on your date_!"

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, heart hammering away in his chest. Sam had to be wrong. There was no way _Tony Stark_ had asked him on a date. He would have known if that was what Tony meant. Wouldn’t he?

"You're wrong. He... He only wanted to thank me for the touch ups," Steve insisted lamely. "We had pizza the last time he was at the shop, and… and so, this was just him repaying the favor."

“Sure. Did he happen to ask while the two of you were alone, maybe while giving you the big, brown-eyed ‘I wanna raise babies with you’ look he’s been shooting your direction whenever he thinks you’re not gonna see?”

“Okay, now you’re being ridiculous.”

Sam groaned, and hung his head. “Don’t even. You’re better with people than this, Steve, I know you are, because I’ve seen it in action. You have to be able to read people in order to be a good leader, and you _are_ that, without a doubt. So, what I want to know is, why are you lying to yourself right now?” Steve could feel a muscle in his jaw twitching, but couldn’t seem to lose the tension. “Do you not like the guy, and this was your brilliant plan for blowing him off?”

“No! That’s… that’s awful, I wouldn’t—”

“Well, you _did_. He’s gonna be back here any minute, and I guarantee he’ll have a nice excuse all ready for why he has to leave early, let you know he already paid the bill, and left Deirdre a big ol’ tip, and then you will never, _ever_ see the guy again.”

Sam’s words absolutely should not have made Steve feel like someone had dumped ice water into his veins, but that was the reaction nonetheless. It made no sense. 

"What do I do?"

Sam looked over his shoulder again, then leaned in, keeping his voice low. “Alright, for a start, stop overthinking this. I’m gonna ask a question, and you answer it without thinking. One, two, three, do you find him attractive?”

“Sure, but—”

“No, no, no buts,” Sam insisted, waving his hand. “He’s a nice enough guy that he didn’t tell us to fuck off when you had me crash the date. Already knows you have a kid, and is still interested. He’s good looking, has a steady job.”

“But, he’s a… a celebrity,” Steve hissed, looking around as if paparazzi might appear upon hearing the word.

“And I thought you didn’t judge people based upon the labels society gives them,” Sam countered, sitting back in his seat and looking disappointed. “I think you’re scared.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve spotted Tony. He’d left the bathroom and was standing at the cash register, probably settling their tab as Sam had predicted. “I’m not _scared_ , I’m being practical. I have a kid to think about, and—”

“And you’re using him as an excuse. I know, we’ve had this conversation a hundred times, Rogers. I only nag because I love you. If you were actually happy alone, that’d be a different story.”

“I’m not alone,” Steve insisted weakly. “I have Peter.”

Sam sighed, and hung his head. When he looked up, his eyes were surprisingly sad, and serious. Looking into them made Steve feel the wave of panic returning.

“Do me a favor then. First, tell Tony you misunderstood.”

The breakfast burrito was sitting like lead in Steve’s stomach. “Okay.”

“Second, we’re gonna pretend you’re back in the Army, and I’m your commanding officer. No complaints, no excuses, no list of supposedly practical reasons why it’s a bad idea. You’re gonna ask Tony on a date.”

Steve glanced back at the counter. Tony was still talking to Deirdre, but that couldn’t last much longer. He was leaning with both elbows on the counter, shoulders hunched as the two chatted. Something about the way he was holding himself made him appear far less confident, which in turn made Steve’s chest ache, because he couldn’t help but think of what Tony had said about practice, and his father.

None of what Sam had said really changed any of the reasons why he and Tony wouldn’t work, but at the same time… Would going on _one date_ really be the worst thing? At the very least, it would get people off his back for a while. Tony was nice, and had a good sense of humor. They might even have a good time. And if—when—it didn’t work out, it wasn’t like he and Tony ran in the same social circles, and he had to worry about awkwardness.

“Yeah, alright.”

Sam’s eyes were wide with surprise, which almost made the entire experience worth it. “A _real_ date, Steve. Buy him flowers if you have to. Let yourself have a good time.”

“A real date," Steve promised. "Now shut up. He's on his way back."

Sam hopped up from the booth, sliding out and leaving Steve behind to fend for himself. Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat, wondering how the hell he was going to get through the next part without making things worse somehow. What if Sam was insane, and _he_ was right, and Tony looked at him like he was a—

"Hey, uh, sorry to bail on you so soon," Tony said, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. He was standing at the end of the booth, looking at the table instead of at Steve. "Thanks again for the touch ups."

"You're leaving?"

Tony looked up, meeting his eyes, and Steve finally let himself acknowledge the sad sort of longing there. "Yeah, you know how it is. No rest for the wicked. It was nice seeing you again, and, uh, meeting Sam." 

Tony looked away again, rapping his knuckles against the surface of the table. "I already took care of the bill."

"Thanks. Hey, Tony—"

"So, yeah," he barreled on, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck before throwing out another empty smile. "Thanks for humoring me, I guess."

Steve lurched across the booth, and managed to grab Tony's wrist before he could rush off. "I didn't know it was supposed to be a date," Steve blurted. Beneath his fingers, he could feel Tony tense.

"No, I got that," Tony said, his voice flat. "You're too nice a guy to have done it on purpose. Tell Sam I'm sorry. I wouldn't have asked if I had known."

"Known what?"

Tony stared down at him, then gave his arm a little shake, prompting Steve to let go. "You and Sam?"

Steve groaned and hung his head, then looked up again. "Sam is straight," he explained, watching the confusion spread across Tony's face, "and thinks I'm an idiot. Could you maybe sit back down?" Tony looked like he wanted to do anything but, so Steve added, "Please?"

To his relief, Tony slid into the booth, opting to sit beside him, although he maintained plenty of space between them.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, figuring it was a good start.

Tony shrugged. "It's fine. We can chalk it up to a misunderstanding, and—"

"Let me take you to dinner?" Steve interrupted. "And by dinner, I mean a date."

Steve studied his profile, watched the subtle play of emotions flicker across Tony's handsome face. "You don't have to humor me," he said after a moment. "I was surprised you said yes in the first place, so we can just consider this the universe righting itself."

Feeling brave, Steve shifted a little closer. "This isn't me humoring you. I... It never occurred to me that you'd _want_ to take me on a date."

Tony finally met his eyes again. "So, if I had made myself clear, you still would have said yes?"

"Honestly?"

"Honesty would be nice, yeah."

Steve sighed, but maintained the eye contact. "Probably not." The hurt flared bright in Tony's eyes, and Steve made himself keep looking. "Not because of you. That's how I always answer whenever anyone asks. Tony, I haven't been on a date in _years_. I tried two or three times after leaving the Army. Never went past a first date, and one of them even ended before dessert."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, while I've attended publicized charity functions with someone of Pepper's choosing, I haven't done the whole dating thing since all this." Tony gestured toward his chest, and Steve assumed he was referring to the issues he'd had with his heart.

Which made him feel both better _and_ worse. It was nice to know Tony wasn't seeing a new special someone every other night, but it made him feel like an even bigger ass for having misunderstood everything. If their roles were reversed, and he'd finally worked up the nerve to ask someone out after so long, only to have them bring someone else? Steve wasn't sure he'd have been as polite as Tony had been.

"Sounds like we're both overdue."

It was strange how quickly things had shifted in his mind. Steve was sitting there, anxious, but determined, the idea of Tony saying no now far more terrifying than the idea of going on the date with him.

"Please? One more shot?" Steve asked quietly. "I promise I won't bring anyone with me."

At this, Tony laughed, the tension easing out of his posture. "Setting the bar pretty high there, aren't you?"

"What can I say, I'm an overachiever."

Tony huffed, then tilted his head to the side, searching Steve's face for something. It made Steve want to hold his breath, and sit up straighter. Instead, he held Tony's gaze, and hoped he would see enough there to take another chance.

"Alright."

The relief that washed through him was unexpected, but welcome, and left Steve smiling wide. "Yeah? Great. Uh, okay, um, is it too short of a notice for Saturday night?"

"No. Saturday would work. Have anything in mind?"

Steve hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. The last thing he'd expected when waking up that morning was needing a good spot for a date. Normally, he'd ask Natasha, but considering his current predicament, he doubted asking for a minute to run across the street would work out well.

Normally, he cooked all their meals. Occasionally they splurged on pizza, or popped over to the diner, but when your typical Friday night involved playing with a four year old, knowing good date spots wasn't really necessary.

Latching onto the first thing that came to mind, Steve asked, "Do you like Italian?"

"Sure."

When Bucky had played his little practical joke, their fathers had wanted to know where Steve was going to take Tony for their date, and before he could explain that Bucky was a liar, they'd recommended a little Italian place in the neighborhood. They'd all been in Italy during their time in the Army, and they all had a thing for food, so it was as good a choice as any.

"There's this place, Convivium Osteria, that's supposed to be really good. Hopefully I can get us reservations."

Tony's eyes narrowed, suddenly tense again, but he must have taken Steve's confusion as genuine, because a moment later he was shaking his head.

"You've gotta be shitting me," he said on an exhale, slouching in the booth and fishing his hand into his pocket, coming away with his phone. 

"What?"

At least he was smiling again, which was an improvement. "Want to do the same time?"

"Sure."

Tony shifted so that he was facing Steve, then made a call, smiling a strange little smile. "Hey, Collette, it's Tony again. About those reservations I cancelled—any chance I can get the same time on Saturday?"

Steve felt his mouth fall open, and he was pretty sure he was blushing, embarrassment, guilt, and surprise warring with each other. This seemed to make Tony's smile grow wider, though.

"Yeah? Thanks so much, Collette, you're a lifesaver. Mm hmm. Yeah, okay. Thanks again. Bye." Tony set his phone down and arched an eyebrow. "Great minds and all that, right?"

"You had reservations," Steve groaned, hanging his head in shame. "Sam's right, I'm an idiot."

"Have you been there before?"

Steve shook his head. "No, it came up at a family dinner recently."

"Mm hmm." Tony was studying him as if he could tell there was more to the story. "Well, you can tell me all about it on Saturday. No point in you swinging out to Manhattan, only to head back to Brooklyn, so, I'll come to you?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. Oh, uh, I don't know if I actually ever said, but I live above the shop, so..."

Tony, still smiling, looked over his shoulder, and laughed. "Sam and Deirdre might be using us as free entertainment." He gave a little wave. "Right, I'm gonna make my exit now. I'll see you Saturday, Rogers."

Steve watched Tony slide out of the booth, feeling oddly uncertain as to what to do or say. A handshake would be kind of weird, and goodbye seemed sort of lame.

"Okay. Great. Tony, uh, thanks. For the second chance."

Tony gave him a shy little smile, then shook his head. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the death of me?"

It was said with such affection that Steve couldn't take any offense. He could only return the smile, and watch Tony walk away. Nerves and excitement churned inside of him as he shifted in the booth, watching through the glass as Tony crossed the street and climbed into his car.

"Well?"

Dragging his eyes away from the shine of Tony's tail lights, Steve turned to find Sam watching him expectantly.

"I have a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It ends better this time! Whew. Thanks to all of you sharing screams with me over chapter 3. You made my week. :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's shoulder is a good place for Tony to rest his head. Natasha and Tony are on their way to becoming bros. Steve breaks out the bike and steps up his flirt-game for their _real_ first date, which goes much, much better than expected.

When Bruce opened his front door, Tony almost fell into his condo. This was an entirely avoidable outcome, but Tony had opted to wait in the hallway with his forehead pressed to the cool wood of the door, so that when Bruce pulled it open, he’d pitched forward. It was sort of like a dysfunctional trust exercise, and Tony wasn’t sure why he’d done it until he wound up with his face somewhat mashed against Bruce’s shoulder, and strong arms catching hold of him and keeping him upright. The warm body that was Bruce’s tensed, but relaxed quickly, turning the forced-embrace into something more substantial, a large hand curling protectively around the back of Tony’s neck.

“Date went that well, huh?”

Tony groaned and allowed Bruce to lead him inside after a bit of lingering. “He didn’t know it was a date.”

“Ouch.”

“No, it gets worse. He invited a friend along for the ride.”

Bruce scrubbed a hand through his hair, encountered his glasses perched there, and popped them back onto his face. It was so endearingly Bruce that Tony immediately knew he’d made the right choice by not going home. Or to the bar. The crawling tension responsible for his tight jaw and bunched shoulders slowly eased.

“Wow, okay, then.” Bruce was nodding as if now everything made sense. “I’m sorry, by the way. Should I turn on the news, or did you manage to get here without leaving a trail of destruction in your wake?”

Tony paused in removing his shoes, his own laughter catching him by surprise. Again, the sense of depressurization, a lessening, making it easier to breathe. “No destruction. I caved to the apology, once he figured out what had happened, and, uh, we’re going to try again on Saturday.”

“Good.”

“Good, he says.” Tony ignored the coat rack and left his suit jacket on the back of a chair on his way to the couch. “Sucker, is more like it.”

“No, I stand by good,” Bruce insisted. He took up a seat beside Tony, opting to sit in lotus. “It would have been a disappointing end to things. I haven’t seen you so interested in another person since… well. Ever.”

“This is what worries me.” Tony tapped absently against his chest, wincing at the stinging sensation. “I should cancel. Right?”

Bruce seemed to give his words consideration, mouth pursed as if in distaste. “Of course. Why risk further contamination? You might find yourself _really_ enjoying his company, and going on a second date. Or a third, for that matter. Given enough time, the two of you might actually go and do something as inadvisable as falling in love, if you’re not careful.”

“My point exactly.” 

Tony slouched into the couch, exhaustion washing over him, leaving his limbs heavy. When he closed his eyes, his mind conjured up the memory of Steve with his head bowed over the tattoo gun, of the blush creeping across his cheeks when he looked up, found Tony watching. _Hey, yourself_ Steve had said, and Tony felt quite strongly that it wasn’t fair in the least, having memories like that at his disposal. He shouldn’t have goosebumps from a memory, either, or an unpleasant tugging sensation in his chest.

“Bruce,” Tony said, and he wasn’t sure if it was a question, a request for permission, or something else entirely.

“Setting sarcasm aside for a moment, if you don’t go on this date, I’ll be left with a great many unanswered questions. So go, even if you’re only humoring me. Even though you’re scared. _Especially_ if you’re scared.”

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat, and nodded, eyes opening a moment later to find Bruce’s attention focused on a spot across the room where a framed photo of Betty Ross sat nestled amongst mementos from his travels.

“Knowing what you know now, wouldn’t you want to… I don’t know. Change things? Not be hurt?”

The question hung in the room uncomfortably, until Bruce broke the tension with a laugh, and a small smile. “No. No, _not at all_ , Tony. Knowing Betty—being with her—made me a better person. Sometimes, it still hurts, but mostly… Mostly, I think of the good times, and am grateful I had an opportunity to share myself fully with another person.”

To Tony, it sounded both terrifying, and unfathomable. “Hey,” he said, pushing at the ugly tangle of emotions sitting heavy in his chest, “can we maybe ignore my crippling emotional issues for the rest of the night?”

“You’re going on the date.” Bruce didn’t phrase it as a question. 

“He said please and everything.” Tony chewed on his lower lip, added, “Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Bruce hummed his approval, stretching like a cat before turning on the TV. “So, classic _Star Trek_ , or _Babylon 5_?”

“ _Trek_ , please.”

And that was good, for a little while, at least. Tony could sit, and watch, and pretend that he was paying attention, lie to them both with snarky little comments, and throw away jokes. Bruce wasn’t fooled, but was happy enough to play along, and Tony’s love for him flared fiercely, so much so that his hands clenched into fists, as if preparing to defend Bruce. From what, he had no idea. It wasn’t as if people were queuing up outside to Bruce-nap him.

Tony’s pocket vibrated, making him jump. His first thought, naturally, was Steve, which was both understandable, and unfortunate. All signs pointed to this ending with him in tears. He needed to pump the brakes on his heart, already, because it had gotten _way_ ahead of itself this time.

“If you’re going to text with him during _Star Trek_ , be prepared to read them aloud. House rules.”

“It’s from Natasha, actually. _What happened_ , she asks, followed by one, two… _seven_ knife emoji!” Tony stared down at the phone, eyes wide. He looked up at Bruce. “She’s scary. Are you two dating, by the way?”

“We’re friends. Sort out your own love life before you go poking in mine,” Bruce suggested. “Also, I recommend replying sooner than later.”

_Ask Steve. Or Sam._

Tony hit send, and frowned. Bruce had a strange sort of smile hovering at the corner of his mouth, which he blamed for the next message.

_Or just come over. I’m with Bruce._

After a moment or two, Tony stuffed his phone back in his pocket, figuring Natasha had gone to the source for her info. It was too easy to imagine the back room of the shop, Clint and Bucky wedged into the corner of one couch, Sam, Steve, and Natasha taking what room was left. Remorseful or not, he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which the story didn’t result in someone having a laugh. Not even necessarily at his expense. The entire thing was ridiculous; he’d laugh, too, under different circumstances.

Of course, at the moment, he didn’t feel much like laughing.

Tony had spent most of the night feeling like he was treading water, desperate to keep a hold on himself, his emotions. It was one thing letting someone close enough to hurt you, it was something else entirely giving them the satisfaction of seeing they’d gotten to you.

“It occurs to me,” Bruce said an hour later, his soft, endearing voice cutting through Tony’s maudlin thoughts, “whatever happens on your do-over, it can’t be as bad as him bringing a buddy.”

Tony shifted on the couch until he could properly aim his glare at Bruce, who continued on with the zen smile, and adorably floppy hair. “It occurs to _me_ that if you’d give up this childish commitment to heterosexuality you insist upon maintaining, we could just get married, and I wouldn’t have these stupid problems, Brucie-bear.”

“That would be _awful_ ,” Bruce sighed, his smile only growing. He shuddered. “We’re comfortable with each other in the wrong ways, Tony. It’s all far too _safe_ for love.”

“I’m forty. I don’t need the whole star-crossed lovers scenario.”

“Bullshit,” Bruce laughed. “If anything, you’re overdue.”

Tony felt as if a chord had been struck somewhere within him, his mind offering up a perfect snapshot of Steve’s earnest eyes, watching him, hopeful. _Sounds like we're both overdue_ , he’d said.

“When it blows up in my face, and I come back to you crying, I’m going to remind you of this conversation, and you’ll feel guilty about leading me astray.”

“By all means,” Bruce began to say, but then his door buzzer rang. He arched an eyebrow, but must have seen something in Tony’s eyes. “Did you invite someone over?”

Tony sat up a little straighter. “Ah. I might have—jokingly, mind you—suggested our mutual friend come over if she was so interested in discussing my date.”

While not positive, Tony was almost certain he heard Bruce mutter, “reinforcements,” under his breath as he went to answer the door. Then he didn’t care so much, because he caught a whiff of something very much like curry, prompting his stomach to wake up.

“See, she brings gifts when she drops by,” Bruce announced, making a beeline for the kitchen. Sure enough, he was carrying bags of takeout. Natasha sauntered in behind him, crooking a finger over her shoulder, motioning for Tony to join them.

A bottle of wine was pressed into his hands upon entering the kitchen, and Tony dutifully grabbed hold. Natasha arched an eyebrow in Bruce’s direction, and he waved his hand, hardly looking up. She grabbed two glasses and the bottle opener, then headed for the living room. Bruce met Tony’s eyes and smiled the sort of smile you give someone right before they march off to their own execution.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice she knows where you keep the bottle opener,” Tony whispered before following.

Natasha took the bottle from him, then pointed to the kitchen. When Tony returned with a loaded plate, she had a glass waiting. 

“Pie is not dinner.”

Tony wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that she knew about the pie. He was leaning toward bad. “Hello to you, too.”

“You never mentioned there was pie.” Bruce placed a plate of food in front of Natasha before settling down onto the floor to sit crossed legged at the coffee table beside her.

Natasha hummed as she sipped her wine. “Apparently Tony here is Deirdre’s new favorite.”

“Unlike present company, she took pity on me.” Tony finished half his glass of wine in one swallow, then tucked into his food, moaning appreciatively.

“Sam is sorry, by the way.” She smiled around her fork, took the time to savor her food. “Sounds as if he talked some sense into Steve. I hear there’s a rematch on Saturday?”

“See,” Tony pointed at Natasha with his fork, then finished his wine. As soon as he set the glass back down, Natasha filled it again. “Sam guilt tripped him into asking me out. It’s a pity date. I should cancel.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep if you do.”

Tony stared at her, but Natasha continued to chew, unbothered by his scrutiny. And not blinking. It was unsettling, and left him wondering if part of her was actually _serious_. “Okay, how about this? I won’t cancel, but if you find out he’s only going out with me to be polite, you have to let me know.”

“Fair,” she agreed, and they shook on it. Of course, since he was a glutton for punishment, he couldn’t help but ask, “Did he laugh, when he told you?”

“I spoke with Sam, not Steve,” she explained. “No one laughed.”

Tony nodded, and looked back down at his plate. There were things he wanted to ask, but he could feel her waiting for those questions, and so he let them slide away. She was Bruce’s friend, and Steve’s friend, and he wanted to respect that.

“This is great, by the way. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Bruce gave him a little smile as if he was proud. Natasha’s grip on her wine glass eased ever so slightly, and Tony knew he’d passed some test. She raised her glass, and Tony clinked his against her own, and that was the end of that particular topic of conversation.

Which was good, actually. They switched from _Star Trek_ to _Firefly_ , and somewhere along the way they finished their bottle of wine, and opened another. Bruce helped them out by having a glass or two, and Tony realized he was actually having a good time. Natasha was sprawled across the couch, feet in Tony’s lap, where he was dutifully rubbing them, Bruce seated on the floor in front of her, Natasha spinning his curls around and around her fingers.

Without his permission, his mind conjured an image of Steve. His eyelashes, and ridiculously broad shoulders. So tidy, and put together, with a perfect little old fashioned part in his hair. Wondered what he might look like after being messed up a little. Would his hair be soft, silky? Or was he the sort that bristled under that sort of attention?

And this time when his phone vibrated, the screen showed him he had a message from The Captain.

_Goodnight Tony_

Natasha's fingers paused, and he found her watching. "Remember the place I made reservations for?" Natasha nodded. "Steve picked the same spot for our date."

Bruce and Natasha made almost identical noises of speculation, and Tony managed to save himself the embarrassment of asking whether they thought it was some kind of sign. Bruce, ever his brother in science, would never let him forget it. Mathematics was where the concept of sign mattered, when it came with other attributes, like value, and magnitude. Angles of rotation, and linear motion. 

Zero was signless he reminded himself, thumbs brushing across the screen of his phone.

_Night, Steve._

No amount of math explained why two words sent to him via text by a virtual stranger left him feeling lighter, and soothed, and suddenly excited for Saturday in a way he hadn't been. It killed his frozen processes, allowing him to find his way into sleep right there on Bruce’s couch, Natasha’s feet still in his lap. 

Tony slept without issue for a change. Lost himself to work almost as soon as he opened his eyes again, ideas whirring away in his brain as he drove back to SI, anxiousness and urgency easing off as soon as he was back in the workshop.

When he next came up for air, Tony realized Friday was long gone, and he’d managed to work straight through to Saturday, accidentally leaving himself only an hour to shower, shave, dress, and get to Brooklyn. Not having time to overthink his wardrobe, or agonize over when to leave was actually a gift. It meant winging it, and walking out the door, the pressure and panic thankfully never manifesting.

Tony pulled up in front of SHIELD on time, rather than early, momentarily uncertain as to whether he was meant to find Steve inside, or upstairs in his apartment. It wasn’t until he climbed out of his car that he realized Steve was already waiting for him outside, leaning against a wall, all dark jeans and black leather jacket.

And just like that, watching Steve push himself away from the wall, seeing the shadows shift and slide across his face, the ever present seriousness trading places with a small smile, Tony decided Bruce might be right after all. There were _levels_ to comfort, and the easy ebb and flow of their friendship had nothing on the riotous way his body responded to the sight of Steve Rogers.

“How do you feel about motorcycles?”

Steve’s smile shifted, became something shared, rather than projected, while Tony blinked and puzzled over the question. “Uh, pretty good, actually.”

“Great.” 

Tony tilted his head up a bit, because Steve was suddenly standing close enough that it was required if any sort of eye contact was going to be maintained. 

“I’ve got an extra helmet.”

“Ah, so, not a theoretical question, then.” 

Slow shake of the head. “Nope. Come on.” Tony allowed himself to be led, Steve’s hand there and gone again at his elbow, showing him the way. “It’s been a bit. Thought it would be nice to take her out.”

“Guessing four-year olds and motorcycles don’t exactly mix?”

Steve’s chuckle was warm, welcoming in a way Tony hadn’t quite expected. “No, not so much.” They ducked into an alley behind the shop, Steve fishing keys out of his pocket, and stopping at a garage door. “Peter doesn’t know the bike is down here, or I’d never hear the end of it.”

Tony enjoyed the view as Steve bent over to pull open the garage door, leaning back a bit, not bothering to hide his ogling. He assumed the little shake of Steve’s head, and the twitching at the corner of his mouth meant he’d noticed.

Steve ducked inside, then popped out again with helmets. “Here, make yourself useful,” he suggested, handing them over.

Unsurprisingly, the interior of the garage was pristine, as was the bike nestled at the center. Tony had another opportunity for ogling when Steve straddled the motorcycle, and eased it out of the garage.

“ _Very_ nice. I mean, I assumed you weren’t talking crotch rocket, but still nice to see it’s a Harley.”

“I learned to ride on an old WLA of my folks’, but it was getting a bit pricey to maintain, so they sold it to a collector while I was overseas.” Steve climbed back off of the bike to lock up after himself. “Treated myself to this when I left the Army.”

“I applaud your taste.”

Steve helped himself to one of the helmets, got back on his bike, then looked over his shoulder expectantly. Tony took it for the invitation it was, content to slide into place behind Steve, nerves not catching up with him until he was all but nestled against his broad back, thighs spread wide, knees tucked behind Steve’s own.

Once he had his helmet on, Steve reached behind himself, grabbed hold of Tony’s wrists, and pulled him even closer, giving his hands a little pat once they were clasped against Steve’s stomach. “Don’t fall off,” he suggested before conversation became impractical due to the noise of the gunning engine.

It took a great deal of self control to not whoop with delight when they headed out, because Steve Rogers drove the way Tony did; fast, but with precision, confidence, and mastery. It was glorious, and thrilling, and not for a second did Tony have to worry about Steve losing control of the bike. He was free to hold on for dear life, watching the city unfold before them from over Steve’s shoulder.

Arriving at their destination was disappointing, right up until Steve pulled his helmet back off, leaving his hair ever so slightly disheveled. The smile he was wearing was brilliant enough to make all of Tony’s clever words dissolve against his tongue. Moving of their own accord, his hands unclasped, palms dragging greedily over the hard muscle of Steve’s stomach, eventually settling into place at his hips before letting go entirely.

Steve waited until he’d removed his helmet before making Tony’s brain melt. “Enjoy the ride?” And he could have dismissed the question as something innocent, except for the way Steve’s voice had gone all low when asking, his eyes making it perfectly clear he knew Tony’s mind was right in the gutter.

“Absolutely.” God, but it was tempting to grind himself against Steve’s ass, whisper a filthy remark or two into his ear, try to make him blush again. Instead, he behaved himself, and returned the smile, dismounting as gracefully as possible. “Feel free to take the long way home.”

“Play your cards right, and I might.”

Date-Steve was like a different person entirely. He held the door open for Tony, and—after checking to make sure he wouldn’t mind—ordered for them both in shockingly good Italian. He was quicker to smile, and seemed far more self assured. Part of Tony missed the shy, almost awkward side of Steve he’d witnessed, and wondered if the good Captain was trying to go above and beyond to make up for the disaster that had been the first time around.

Once they were seated, he didn’t have time for introspection, was too busy battling his nerves, and hanging on Steve’s every word.

“Wait, so you’re telling me you and Bucky have _five_ fathers?” Tony asked, thinking he must have heard that wrong.

“They stuck together after the war,” Steve explained. “You were checking out their photos when you came in for your consultation.”

“The Howling Commandos,” Tony blurted, feeling proud of himself when Steve nodded. “Guess it isn’t so surprising you both wound up in the Army.”

“They tried to talk me out of it, actually.” Steve’s expression clouded over a bit. “As soon as Bucky found out I’d enlisted, he went and signed up, too. Said someone needed to keep an eye on me.”

Knowing what he knew of Steve, Tony had no doubt that he blamed himself for the loss of Bucky’s arm. The hoarding of guilt; something else they had in common, perhaps.

“Betting you could hear your dads yelling from New Jersey when they found out.”

Steve nodded, eyes distant, aimed in the direction of the flickering candle at the center of their table. “Once it was all said and done, they were nothing but supportive.” Tony watched Steve make minute adjustments to the cutlery, his glass of water. “They knew I was doing it for the right reasons. I’d been talking about being a soldier since as far back as I can remember, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise. Only, I _was_ sick as hell growing up, so maybe they figured I’d have to change my mind. Even though they weren’t happy about it, they respected my choice.”

“How old were you?”

“Went down the day after I turned eighteen,” Steve answered, finally looking up, meeting Tony’s eyes. “Guessing you were off to college at that age?”

“Nah, I’d already graduated top of my class from MIT,” he answered without thinking, wincing once the words caught up with him. “Sorry, that sounded braggy. And here I promised myself I was going to be restrained for our date. No extravagant gestures, or references to my staggering genius, or how amazing I am in bed.”

To his delight, Steve actually laughed. A little one, but it was enough to chase away the melancholy that’d been hanging around his face after talking of the Army. “Well, at least you tried.”

“Thank you. In all seriousness, though, ” Tony leaned forward, lowering his voice, “I _am_ pretty amazing in bed.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitched as he suppressed his smile, but the blush was still nowhere to be seen. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do.” Tony took a sip of wine if only to have something to do with his mouth, and hands. “So, these other failed dates of yours. What’d they do to get on your bad side?”

Steve’s brows bunched up, but Tony could tell by the look in his eyes that he was more amused than irritated. “You’re asking me about other people I’ve gone on dates with?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I want to benefit from their mistakes, obviously. The scientist in me craves data, Rogers. I’ll go first, if you want?”

“By all means.” Steve sat back in his seat, arms folded across his chest, looking very much like he was daring Tony to impress him. “Tell me about your last date.”

“She was a bit too attached to her phone,” Tony answered. “And this is coming from the guy who wrote most of the code running the phone in question. She tweeted everything I said, right after I said it.” Steve tried and failed to disguise his laughter as a cough. “So, I asked her to stop, and she moves the phone into her lap.”

“You’re lying.”

“I promise you, I’m not. She’s there, looking down at it, and tapping away, so I start talking as fast as I can, dumping scientific jargon on her.” Steve had a pretty good poker face, but he was losing the battle with his smile. “She actually got huffy with me, and made a big show of putting her phone down, only she very obviously has the voice recorder running. I pretended to get a call I needed to take, then left her there.”

“Wow. That’s… _awful_.”

“That’s not even the worst date I’ve been on.” Tony made a bowing gesture before motioning to Steve, indicating it was his turn. “Fair's fair.”

“I’ve never had anything like that happen.” Steve shifted in his seat, and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Honestly, it was more me than them. I was still adjusting to civilian life, and having some trouble connecting with people.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

Steve looked up at him, maybe intending to set him straight, but whatever he saw there made him nod, instead. He gestured to his left arm, where inky skin lay hidden beneath the sleeve of his dress shirt. “Last guy asked me if I used tattoos to keep track of the people I'd killed. People is my word—he opted for a derogatory term. Couldn’t understand why I didn’t think it was a ‘cool’ idea. I threw the money for my half of dinner on the table and walked out.”

Even without knowing him very well, Tony could tell Steve wasn’t the sort of guy to celebrate the loss of life, the dehumanizing of people, or think there was anything entertaining about killing. “That’s way worse than Twitter Girl. That’s more like the guy who asked me to autograph his copy of the _Time_ magazine special they did on my dad the year after he died.”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and to Tony’s surprise, he leaned across the table, his large hand warm when it covered Tony’s own. “What the hell is wrong with people?”

“My behavior usually results in someone asking that question, so you’re probably talking to the wrong guy,” Tony said, once he trusted his voice. “But if you ever figure it out, let me know.” 

Steve still hadn’t moved his hand. Was, in fact, brushing his finger back and forth across the bone of Tony’s wrist. His blue eyes looked especially dark in the low lighting of the restaurant, and Tony felt a little like he might fall into them if he wasn’t careful.

“You’re not what I expected.”

Tony blinked himself back to reality, not sure why the remark made him lower his eyes, and squirm just the tiniest bit. “Not, uh, living up to the hype, or—”

“Tony, no, that’s not… Not _that_. I mean… Well, actually, I guess _I’m_ not what I expected.” Steve licked his lower lip, then worried at it a bit with his teeth, sending Tony’s artificial heart rioting in his chest. “I don’t like dating, which is why I gave it up.” Steve’s hand shifted against his own, taking hold a bit more firmly, thumb sweeping across Tony’s knuckles. “This is my ham-handed attempt to tell you that I’m enjoying myself, by the way.”

“Give it time,” Tony teased, snagging Steve’s fingers and giving them a squeeze. “We can’t _both_ still be enjoying ourselves by the end of the evening; think of our track records. Statistically speaking, it’s unlikely.”

Steve smiled, and ducked his head. “Maybe our luck has changed.”

“Hmm, luck, huh? I’m a math guy, the idea of luck makes me feel squirrely.” Tony couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pink swell of Steve’s lower lip. “Although, I appreciate the sentiment.”

“So, what happens if we get to the end of the evening, and still like each other?”

Tony balked. “You like me?”

Steve make a fond sort of exasperated noise, not at all dissimilar to what Tony was used to hearing from Pepper and Rhodey on a fairly regular basis. “Of course I like you. Why would I ask you out after making an ass of myself if I didn’t?”

“To be polite?” Tony shrugged.

“Please, I’m not _that_ nice a guy.”

Tony snorted, then stopped fighting the stupid grin that was threatening to take over his face. “Well, that’s probably good. I’m bound to disappoint anyone _that_ nice. And, uh, to answer your previous question, I suppose we could always keep trying the whole dating thing until one of us realizes they’ve made a horrible mistake.”

Thankfully, Steve laughed at this, although he let go of Tony’s hand. Mostly because their food had arrived, and he’d need it to eat, but still. Tony missed the warmth of him as soon as it was gone, spent a good bit of the evening wondering what the protocol on reinitiating contact was. Which was ridiculous, really. He’d partied with the rich and famous, had his fair share of one night stands, had once picked up a crowned prince without thinking twice, yet there he was with butterflies in his stomach over a single dad from Brooklyn.

Rhodey was right. He’d gone and gotten ahead of himself in the feelings department. And while it would likely end with him in tears, Tony couldn’t bring himself to care, not with Steve sat across from him, all warm eyes and soft smiles. It made Tony want to go a little crazy, throw caution to the wind, let himself buy into the notion of luck, if luck meant getting to spend time with Steve.

Figuring it might be a good idea to keep the mood light, Tony asked after Peter, and had the pleasure of watching Steve’s eyes light up. Really, fatherhood was a good look on him, which was not something Tony ever expected to find himself thinking about anyone. Howard had kind of ruined the appeal, but Steve clearly loved his son fiercely.

Five years ago, the idea of discussing _Curious George_ over dinner would have had Tony running for the hills, or at least the closest bar. Instead, he wanted the night to go on forever. They could only linger over their dinner for so long, though, much to Tony’s dismay, but at least there was a motorcycle ride back to his car to look forward to. Steve insisted on paying for dinner, and Tony wasn’t about to argue. Instead, he used it as an opportunity to suggest he could foot the bill the next time around.

“Next time, huh? You’re awfully optimistic,” Steve said, but he’d taken Tony’s hand on the way out of the restaurant.

Curling himself around Steve on the back of the bike was a thousand times better and worse than it had been on the way to the restaurant. He was warm, and solid, and Tony found it all to be incredibly unfair. Letting go would be difficult, when Steve felt so good against him.

Forcing himself to enjoy the moment while he was in it, Tony held on tight, and appreciated the sense of freedom that came from being on a motorcycle, grinning wildly beneath the helmet, especially once he realized Steve was taking the long way back.

Because Steve _liked_ him.

The evening had more than made up for the crushing nature of their not-date at the diner, and Tony wanted to kick himself for even considering cancelling. He’d have missed out on wrapping his arms around Steve, and whipping through the city. Tony wouldn’t have had the opportunity to catalogue no less than eight new and fascinating variations on Steve’s smile.

As they pulled into the alleyway behind Steve’s shop, Tony tried to work out how, exactly, he should go about asking Steve for a second date. He was pretty confident Steve would go for it, but that didn’t make him any less nervous. It was distracting enough that Steve needed to tap his hands to indicate he should let go, as they reached the garage, which was a tad embarrassing.

Tony hopped off the bike, accepting the helmets when Steve handed them over, happy to trail into the garage after Steve. It seemed especially quiet once he cut the engine, and then dark, as well, the headlight going out, leaving his eyes to adjust.

“I need to invent helmets that don’t mess up your hair,” Tony joked, holding them up so Steve could take them off his hands. “Bet I could make millions.”

Only, instead of taking the helmets, Steve stepped in close, and brought his hands to either side of Tony’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, prompting Tony to take a sharp inhalation of breath. And it made no sense whatsoever, but somehow the feeling of Steve’s large, warm hands cradling his face was more shockingly intimate than the brush of his lips against Tony’s own, because where the kiss was hesitant and tentative and asking permission, his grip was possessive, and greedy, and made it clear he wanted more than he was comfortable taking.

Tony floundered for a moment, his first instinct to drop the helmets he was holding so he could grab hold of Steve, but instead he shifted his head to the side a bit, so their noses wouldn’t be mashed together, and pushed up onto the tips of his toes, exhaling in a hot rush as he captured Steve’s lower lip.

Steve made a soft, hungry noise of approval, used his grip on Tony to all but crush their mouths together. Tony’s body had forgotten how breathing was supposed to work, leaving him dizzy, and out of sorts in a way a kiss hadn’t ever done before, which seemed appropriate, all things considered, as if Steve was marking him with his mouth, with his touch, changing him.

He wanted to pour himself into Steve, wanted to spend the rest of his life suspended in that moment, in the slow, cautious give and take, in being held as if he was precious, but lost as he was to the kiss, Tony instinctively went to wrap his arms around Steve, pull him closer, hold on for dear life. Instead, he knocked the helmets together behind Steve’s back, the unexpected noise startling them both.

Steve pulled back, straightened up to his full height, eyes wide open in surprise. Tony was left to stare up at him, captivated, feeling as if he had been woken from a deep sleep.

“Helmets,” he said, helplessly, holding them up to show Steve, as if he wouldn’t be believed otherwise.

And Steve blinked, confusion sliding away, until he was laughing, clear, and bright, the sound filling the garage. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he swore, grabbing the helmets, stashing them on the first available surface before turning back to Tony, flustered, but still smiling.

“There it is,” Tony gushed, because even in the low light, he could make out the flush to Steve’s cheeks. “I’ve been trying to get you to blush all night.”

There weren’t words for the look Steve sent his way. Tony wanted to pounce on him, wanted to kiss him until Steve couldn’t form coherent sentences any longer, wanted to shove him back against the bike, and drop to his knees, find out what sort of noises he made while having his dick sucked. Wanted to be invited upstairs, or tempt Steve to come back home with him, but that seemed cheap in a way it never had before. It would have felt good, without a doubt, but the idea sat sideways in Tony’s heart.

“Hope this means my optimism has paid off,” he said, once he trusted his voice.

Steve’s eyes were hooded now, his smile something altogether different, as he reached out to drag his thumb down and over Tony’s chin. “Odds seem to be in your favor.”

“Honestly, Steve, if you don’t say yes to a second date, I might actually burst into tears,” Tony said, doing his very best to sound serious, but falling short of the mark. “Full on weeping, with snot, and everything. I guarantee it’ll be awful.”

“Not sure I want that on my conscience.” Steve was much better at playing the comedic straight man than Tony was, was all seriousness, even when he pressed another kiss to Tony’s mouth. “Guess I better say yes.”

“Good call.”

Tony was pretty sure he floated out of the garage, that he only made it back outside in one piece because Steve had taken him by the hand and led him out. Like a couple of kids, they seemed unable to keep from smiling at each other, then looking away, only to look back again and laugh, but Tony had no complaints.

“I’m picking Peter up from his aunt and uncle’s in the morning,” Steve said, taking Tony’s hand once again after he’d closed and locked the garage. “Can I give you a call to work out the details later on?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Tony’s stomach did almost pleasant little anticipatory flip-flops as Steve walked him to his car. Somehow, in the space of a few hours, Steve had surgically removed all of his suave, leaving him confused as to whether he was fourteen or forty. Rhodey was going to tease the shit out of him for it, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Steve shuffled a bit as they reached their destination, still holding Tony’s hand. “Okay. Good. So, ah, I guess I’ll see you soon, then?” 

“Definitely.”

Before Tony could make a move, Steve’s mouth was on his again, hot, and insistent, and gone far too soon. “‘Night, Tony.”

“Goodnight, Captain Rogers.”

Steve looked over his shoulder once, twice, as he headed to his door, smiling a little wider each time he found Tony still standing there, staring after him. And once it was all said and done, and he was inside, and there was nothing to see, Tony climbed into his car, started it up, and finally gave into the urge to whoop with delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all take a moment to join Tony in whooping with delight. Let's also take a moment to cheer Ishtar12! She's joined me behind the scenes as a beta / someone who doesn't complain when I flood her with thousands of words of angsty-drama-smut, and has provided _so much_ useful feedback that this story will definitely be better as a result.
> 
> HAPPY MONDAY!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's been keeping secrets, but his big vocab words give him away. Peter makes an appearance, everyone needs an Uncle Clint, and we all get a better look at some of Steve's symptoms of PTSD. Also, Tony makes a visit, and those might just be his pants on the floor.

“Did you seriously just use the word ‘paradoxical’ in a sentence?”

Realizing his mistake, Steve bit back the stream of profanity that he would have felt entirely justified in unleashing, but only because Peter was a parrot. The last thing he needed was the preschool calling him up to complain because his son had taught the rest of the class some exciting new vocabulary words.

“Shut up.”

“That’s not nice, daddy,” Peter said in a little sing-song voice.

Clint grinned, and swung Peter back up into the air, balancing him on his feet so he could pretend to fly like a superhero. His own contribution to the conversation was almost drowned out by Peter’s enthusiastic squealing. “Yeah, _dad_ , be nice when you talk to my Bucky.”

Unable to help himself, Steve laughed, some of the irritation dissipating. “Sorry, Buck. Peter’s right, that was rude of me.”

“No problem, Stevie,” Bucky answered, using his very best golly-gee-shucks voice, even as he flipped Steve off. “What’s with the big vocab words all of a sudden, anyway?”

“Nothing, it’s a normal word.” 

Steve focused on his sketch, trying to project casual, and unconcerned. He could feel Bucky staring at him, obviously not buying it, which meant he was going to start asking questions Steve wasn’t interested in answering. Fully understanding how irrational it was, Steve found himself growing steadily more irritated with Tony, which was especially strange, since he wasn’t even there, and hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

“Steve.”

Stifling a sigh, he looked up, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You’ve been acting strange.” Bucky’s expression was surprisingly serious, and he’d switched over to French, eyes darting to where Peter and Clint were still playing. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Really? ‘Cause you seem _pissed_. I was only kiddin’.”

“I know that, Buck, I’m not stupid.”

Steve stared down at the tip of his pencil, as if it held the answers he needed, surprised to find he’d broken it against the pad of paper, leaving behind a jagged line of graphite. Truthfully, he _was_ angry, but that wasn’t the real problem; the underlying issue was that he had no idea _why_ he was mad. They’d been chatting, and Clint had said something ridiculous, and Steve had pointed out the paradoxical nature of his statement, hearing Tony’s voice in his head even as he said it, imagining the almost manic glint that would be in his eyes if he’d been there to say it himself.

He’d been thinking of Tony a lot, lately. Steve would be going through his day, and out of nowhere, find himself lost to the memory of Tony’s mouth against his own, and suddenly be unable to breathe. Or, he’d recall a snippet of conversation, and smile, thinking of the way Tony laughed with his whole body when his laughter was genuine. See something, snap off a photo, send it along, knowing Tony would get a kick out of it.

And… and that felt like it was a problem. He just wasn’t sure _why_. 

Maybe because he was working Tony-esque vocabulary words into everyday conversation, and now Bucky was calling him on it?

Taking a deep breath, Steve tried to relax. But the first thing that came to mind when he thought of relaxing was his last date with Tony, which had involved a picnic dinner and dancing outside under the stars. It had been amazing, really, having Tony in his arms, the two of them swaying together, and there went his heart racing, and his hand itching to get to his phone to send off a text, or to call, so he could hear Tony’s voice… 

Which was promptly followed by an inappropriate surge of irritation, tinged with anxiety.

Bucky was watching him with very obvious concern in his eyes, and it made Steve feel like even more of an ass. This was his _brother_. They’d been through things together that normal people had no hope of comprehending. Bucky, Clint, Natasha; they’d seen him at his worst and still loved him unreservedly, had stood by his side, trusted him with their lives, so there wasn’t really any good reason for keeping them in the dark. Especially over something like… whatever was going on between him and Tony.

Steve had meant to say something after their _real_ date, thinking he’d wait to see how it went so as to avoid any ‘friendly’ ribbing over his misread of the situation the first time around. Sam had been kind enough to agree to keep his mouth shut, probably worried Steve would back out if he didn’t. After the date was a surprising success, Steve convinced himself it was a fluke, so he’d be better off waiting for the second before opening his mouth. Then it was the third.

Before he quite knew what was happening, over two months’ worth of dates had gone by, and even Steve recognized that at this point his behavior was unaccountable. Steve’s friends and family were so open with him that he couldn’t seem to find a comfortable way to come out and explain the situation without hurting anyone’s feelings in the process.

Of course, it was entirely possible he’d hurt _Tony’s_ feelings. He hadn’t said anything, but Tony was a genius, after all, and had probably noticed that since their first date Steve had gone out of his way to make sure Tony didn’t come by the shop. He hadn’t complained, though, so maybe it didn’t bother him. Maybe he appreciated the clandestine nature of their arrangement as much as Steve did? What they were doing felt safer, somehow, because of the secrecy. If he made a mess of things, no one would know except him and Tony. Steve didn't have to deal with teasing, or awkward questions, or demands that he bring Tony by for Sunday dinner. Steve had no idea why he could jump out of an airplane without so much as batting an eye, but the idea of Tony having dinner with his family made him want to grab Peter, and run for the hills.

While Tony had stepped out of the limelight and bored the press into submission by aggressively behaving himself, Steve was pretty sure the tabloids would still get a kick out of photos of the billionaire out for a date with a very male, tattoo covered nobody. Then the speculation would begin as to how long Tony had been slumming it, and yeah, even the thought of it had Steve wanting to head to the gym to blow off some steam. He’d never hear the end of it if his family found out about him and Tony via the gossip rags, or social media.

"I'm going to group tonight," Bucky said, interrupting his thoughts, but thankfully still speaking French. "Wanna come with?"

Steve forced himself to loosen the grip on the pencil he was holding, and carefully erased the angry looking line marring his sketch. Group had been great for Bucky, no two ways about it, but Steve didn’t see the point. He’d come back home all in one piece, hardly had any scars, even; he was fine. 

Bucky was watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Steve could probably recite Bucky’s whole, “just come and listen,” pitch word for word, he’d heard it so many times. Even if he’d wanted to go along, he’d already made plans to see Tony. Which... Well. Maybe he could actually use that to his advantage. If Steve played his cards right, he could get the weight of secrecy off his chest, appease his brother, and maybe even keep things somewhat private.

"I can't." 

“Sure you can,” Bucky countered, folding his arms across his chest. “Jim already told me he’s abducting Petey for a Howling Commandos sleepover tonight. No babysitter needed, pal.”

Steve smiled sweetly. “Right, which is why I already made plans for the evening.”

“Going to the gym ain’t _plans_ , Stevie.”

“I have a date.” 

Steve savored Bucky’s poleaxed expression, and wasn’t surprised when it was almost immediately followed by laughter. “Okay, nice try. You had me for a second there.”

Clint had climbed up off of the floor, and was staring at them. “Feels like I’m missing something here. One more time for the French-impaired?”

Peter barreled into Steve’s legs, and he scooped him up on autopilot, grinning ear to ear as little arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed enthusiastically. Unable to help himself, Steve kissed Peter’s cheek over and over until he began giggling and wriggling to get free.

“Go pick out what jammies you want for your sleepover,” he suggested, putting Peter back down, still smiling as he watched his son head for his room, making airplane arms as he went.

Bucky was still grinning as he finished catching Clint up via sign language, but Steve could tell by the way Clint was watching him that he’d figured out he wasn’t joking.

“Who’s the date with?” he asked, proving Steve right.

“Come on, he’s full of shit,” Bucky said, elbowing Clint in the ribs, even as Steve answered, “Tony Stark.”

Clint’s eyes went wide, while Bucky’s smile slid off of his face, leaving him looking eerily _flat_. “Do me a favor, though, and keep it to yourselves? I’m not ready to deal with the whole parental onslaught yet.”

The careful blankness was still in charge of Bucky’s face, and Steve wondered if he’d miscalculated. He was hoping the shock and novelty of having a legitimate reason to decline might lead to Bucky dropping it, but maybe he had other ideas altogether.

“That’s great, Cap,” Clint said, a bit too loud for it to sound natural.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, arms once again folded across his chest. “Bullshit.” Clint groaned, but Bucky ignored his protest, and soldiered on. “No, c’mon, he suddenly has the perfect excuse? I guarantee tomorrow we’ll get a whole story why they had to cancel, and it ain’t like any of us are gonna run into _Tony Stark_ to ask him about standing Steve up.”

“Natasha knows his friend,” Clint pointed out. “We could always ask her.”

“Or, the punk could tell us what’s _actually_ going on with him for a change.”

Steve had pulled out his phone almost as soon as Bucky called bullshit, and was already ringing Tony. They hadn’t decided on what they were doing, so now was as good a time as any.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” Tony said when he answered, his voice warm in a way that made the tension in Steve’s shoulders ease up significantly. “We still on for tonight?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Steve answered, effectively bringing Bucky and Clint’s conversation to a full stop. They were both staring as if he’d just performed a magic trick. “Uh, I was thinking I could make us dinner, if you don’t mind a quiet night in?”

The silence on the line was deafening, and when he spoke again, Tony’s voice sounded off, somehow. “That sounds really nice, actually. I mean, uh, I’d have to buy ingredients, so hopefully you have a list, or something?”

Bucky had rushed over to his side in order to wrestle the phone away from Steve’s ear enough for him to hear who was on the other end, so there was a slight scuffle, and a lot of muffled cursing before Steve could reply.

“Steve? Still there?”

“Yeah, fine, sorry. Bucky is being an ass,” Steve answered, ignoring the noisy protest this resulted in. “How about we do my place? I already have more than coffee in my cabinets.”

“Really? You’re okay with that?”

The surprised excitement in Tony’s voice was telling, and brought a little wave of guilt in its wake. Well, he’d noticed that Steve was keeping him far, far away from the rest of his life, all right.

“Sure,” he answered, hoping Tony couldn’t hear the hesitation in his voice. Steve was looking around his apartment, remembering Tony’s own home, which was alarmingly elegant by comparison. The more he thought about it, the more it worried him, so Steve pushed on before he could back out. “See you later, then?”

“Absolutely,” Tony answered in a rush. Maybe he had the same concerns about Steve changing his mind. “Send a text if you need me to pick anything up on the way over.”

“Right. See you soon.”

As soon as the call was ended, Steve set to picking up Peter’s art supplies, and a few spare toys, going over options in his mind for what he could prepare with the ingredients he had on hand. Something simple would be best, considering he still needed to shower, and shave, and… 

“Holy _shit_ , Steve,” Bucky said, side-stepping so that he was in Steve’s way. The blank expression was long gone, and he looked so happy on Steve’s behalf that it was hard to remember why he’d wanted to keep Tony a secret in the first place. “This is great!”

Smiling in a very, “I told you so,” sort of way, Steve shoved his armful of crap at Bucky just as Peter shouted, “Daddy!” from the other room. “If you’re sticking around, be helpful. And you _will_ be gone by the time he gets here, or I’ll toss you down the fire escape.”

“We’ll help,” Clint swore, snapping off a salute and shoving Bucky out of the way. “Won’t say anything to your dads, either. Right, Buck?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Steve wants,” Bucky answered, still grinning like he’d won the lottery.

Steve could sense a lot of frantic sign language being exchanged behind his back, but ignored it, heading in to check on Peter, who had apparently decided the best way to pick out pajamas was to put them on over the clothes he was already wearing. His hair was sticking up everywhere, and he had one arm wedged uncomfortably in a sleeve.

Once Peter was liberated from too many layers of clothing, Steve helped him pack his little overnight bag, then headed out to see if his brother had recovered from his shock enough to begin interrogating him about his love life.

Only, Bucky remained suspiciously quiet, and even helped with the last minute tidying, while Clint kept Peter occupied until Jim arrived. Steve practically held his breath through the exchange, waiting for Bucky to open his big yap, or drop hints that didn’t technically count as _telling_ , but he was on his very best behavior.

As he did whenever Peter left home to spend time with his granddads or the Parkers, Steve had an overwhelming desire to cancel everything and keep Peter there with him, where he could make certain he was safe. When he’d first adopted Peter, he’d done just that—visits only took place at home, or with him coming along for the ride—but after awhile it became obvious that his protectiveness was alienating the other people in Peter’s life. It was important to him that Peter maintained a connection with Ben and May, who were lovely, and had been so very accepting of Steve, and so he’d been forced to let go.

Even after he recognized it was an issue and made himself compromise, it wasn’t any _easier_ for Steve. The first time he’d tried to drop Peter off at preschool, he’d been so overwhelmed by the certainty that something awful was going to happen once he’d left that he’d turned the car back around to head home. Peter had been so excited about his first day of preschool that he’d burst into tears when Steve told him they were going home instead. He hadn’t really had a choice but to turn back once more, take Peter to school, even though he felt sick to his stomach with dread. 

Peter’s tears had stopped once Steve pulled over, apologized, and gave Peter a hug. They’d walked in together, hand in hand, Steve working very hard not to have his own crying fit as he watched his son wave goodbye.

After they found out he’d spent the entire first day outside of the preschool watching—just to be safe—Sam, Bucky, Clint, or Natasha came along for drop offs to make certain Steve actually left, until he was finally in a position to do it on his own.

Steve took a deep breath, rocking Peter back and forth in his arms before dropping a kiss on his forehead, and ordering him to make sure his granddads didn’t get into trouble. He resisted the urge to follow them down to the car, or to go to the window and watch them drive off, grateful when Jim pulled him into a rough hug and promised to send a text when they got to the house.

Bucky hung back to hand out a hug of his own, whispering, “I’m proud of you, Stevie,” for some reason before heading out with Clint in tow.

Once they were gone, the apartment felt empty and oppressive in the way it always did when Peter was absent, so Steve distracted himself by getting ready, trying not to think on Bucky’s parting words too much.

By the time his buzzer rang, Steve was tempted to suggest they go out for dinner instead, anxiety getting the best of him. He took a deep breath and headed down the narrow staircase to answer the door. After bringing Tony all the way out to Brooklyn and getting his hopes up, Steve figured the least he could do was let him come upstairs to see the place.

A decidedly different sort of nervousness washed over Steve when he opened his door to find Tony waiting with a bottle of wine, wearing a smile that absolutely smoldered. As if in concession to the warmth of summer, he’d undone the top button of his shirt, loosened his tie, and ditched his suit jacket altogether. His vest was still buttoned, while his shirtsleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Steve wanted to drag him upstairs, shove him into a chair, and sketch him, try to capture every last detail, but then again, he had that impulse almost whenever he laid eyes on Tony. 

Steve stepped aside, making room for Tony to enter the stairwell, his words of welcome stopped up somewhere in his chest. Some of what he was feeling must have been visible on his face, because Tony’s teeth flashed for a moment, biting down into his lower lip as if to keep his smile from getting out of control. He stepped right into Steve’s personal space, chin tipped up in an unmistakable invitation, but it was Steve who had to close the distance between them. 

That was a recurring theme, actually, Tony waiting for Steve to take the initiative when it came to their fleeting moments of physical intimacy. Steve was almost positive Tony could sense the conflict he carried around in his chest, and was worried he might push for too much too soon, and potentially scare Steve off. As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, Tony wasn't exactly wrong. It'd been so long since Steve had allowed someone outside of family into his personal space that he fluctuated wildly between wanting to maintain a safe distance, and wanting to give in to his body's sudden sexual reawakening.

At that particular moment, Tony was irresistible. He tasted faintly of coffee, and sighed into Steve’s mouth contentedly, allowing himself to be kissed, and kissed, and kissed again. Steve gave the door a push, let it slam shut, then wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist to pull him closer, earning himself a soft noise of approval. 

Tony always kept his eyes open when kissing, just enough to watch, eyelashes fluttering prettily. It drove Steve crazy every time, and he had no idea why. He’d always kissed with his eyes closed, but knowing Tony was watching him made it seem unbalanced somehow, and so he couldn’t help but reciprocate.

"Hi," Steve said softly, pressing his face into the curve of Tony's neck, breathing him in. He sighed, the last bits of anxiety sliding away as he nuzzled along the curve of Tony’s jaw.

Tony's fingers stroked over the nape of his neck, a soothing, almost possessive gesture that made Stev shiver. "Mm, hello yourself."

"Wanna head on up?" Steve stepped back so Tony could lead the way.

"Feel free to take this opportunity to appreciate how good my ass looks in these pants," Tony suggested, handing Steve the bottle of wine. That hadn't been his intention, but once Tony mentioned it, Steve found himself unable to ignore the way the fabric hugged the curves of Tony's bottom.

"You're a menace," he said, but Tony just laughed.

There was something downright surreal about walking into his apartment to find Tony Stark standing at the center, hands tucked into his pockets as he took in his surroundings.

When Steve was still living alone, Bucky had described the place as Militant Minimalist, which was hard to argue with, especially considering he hadn’t bothered much with furniture. Steve had mostly spent his time down in the shop, at his folks’, or at Clint and Bucky’s place, so there hadn’t been much point, as far as he was concerned. 

Once he had Peter, though, Steve had gone to the trouble to make the space feel more like a home. He liked the exposed brick along the exterior wall, and the richness of the hardwood floors, but the addition of some area rugs and royal blue curtains made everything feel more inviting. Steve had childproofed the apartment, invested in some comfortable furniture, had mounted a few of his paintings, along with any photos that hadn’t already been hung down in the shop. The kitchen opened onto the living area, which was nice, as it made keeping an eye on Peter that much easier. Some of Peter’s artwork had been hung around the place as well, and there were shelves along one wall holding neatly organized toys, books, art supplies, and games.

Watching Tony’s smile grow as he wandered around the place, Steve found himself thinking that Tony looked more at ease in Steve’s living room than he had in his own home. When Steve had first been invited to Tony’s place, he’d been simultaneously impressed and disappointed. He was willing to bet Tony had let Pepper decorate, and hadn’t bothered to change a thing. The view through the floor to ceiling windows had been breathtaking, but Steve thought the penthouse was slick and impersonal, the sort of place you wanted for a magazine shoot, but the last place you’d want to live. It could have belonged to _anyone_ , to the extent that Steve wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Tony kept it as a decoy, so no one knew where he really lived.

“Did you paint this?” Tony asked, spinning on his heels. “Why am I asking stupid questions; of course you did. It’s great. This is _all_ great. I’m so glad you invited me over.”

“Me too.” 

Steve ducked his head, smiling to himself as he headed for the kitchen. It was true, and yet it _wasn’t_ , which seemed to be the way of things for him where Tony was concerned. But at that moment, seeing how happy the gesture had made Tony, Steve was glad he hadn’t chickened out.

“I’d give you the tour, but this is more or less it. Bathroom’s through there, along with my and Peter’s rooms.”

Tony made a noise of acknowledgement, seemingly distracted by looking over the spines of Steve’s books. Steve grabbed some glasses, then opened the bottle of wine, trying to wrap his head around the surreality of someone he’d seen on TV walking around his living room. Of course, the Tony he was privy to wasn’t anything like the Tony Stark he’d seen interviewed, or read about in magazines. He was just… Tony.

“Need any help in the kitchen? I’m useless on my own, but with proper guidance I’m a passable sous chef.”

“Sure.” Steve’s heart did a little stutter in his chest when Tony turned around, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. “I'll need you to sign some waivers first so Pepper doesn’t sic her lawyers on me if you cut off a finger.”

Tony’s entire face scrunched up as he laughed. “I think we’ll be fine. Pepper would say it served me right, anyway.”

“How is she, by the way?”

Steve had only spoken to her a few times, but Pepper came up frequently enough that Steve felt almost as if he knew her. He assumed Tony had told her about them, but for all he knew, Tony was as secretive as Steve himself.

“Good,” Tony said, his smile slipping a bit. He sidled up to Steve, poured them each some wine. “Although, I’ve been picking up this whole ‘I’m not coming back to the East Coast’ vibe from her lately.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

Tony fussed with his wine glass, fingers tapping against the stem. “Uh, her telling me she’s not coming back to the East Coast.”

Steve watched the shifting tides of Tony’s emotions play across his face, uncertain of how to respond. “I’m sorry, I… Is she quitting, or—”

“No, nothing like that,” Tony said, shaking his head as he folded his arms across his chest. “I mean, she’ll be back to visit, and for business, of course, but she wants to focus on the West Coast for the next couple months, at least.”

He was trying very hard to look as if he was happy about this news, but didn’t do a particularly good job of it. Without thinking, Steve reached for him, wrapped a hand around Tony’s wrist, and pulled him in close. Tony tensed up, but only for a moment. Once he realized what was happening, he relaxed into the hug, pressed himself against Steve, his beard tickling a bit where it brushed against Steve’s neck.

Having Tony in his arms felt good in the way few things in life did. Steve wrapped his arms around and around, a hand sliding up Tony’s back, between his shoulder blades. He loved the solid strength of Tony, the way their bodies fit together.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, brushing his lips against Tony’s jaw before pulling back, resting his forehead against Tony’s own. “You must miss her.”

“Yeah.”

Steve watched Tony swallow, then had trouble himself, caught up in the dark luster of Tony’s eyes. He watched the sweep of his lashes, took note of the almost shy look of shock, as if Tony hadn’t expected Steve to care. It surprised him, made something twist inside of Steve’s chest to see it there, reminding him somehow of the lost little looks Peter had given him, way back when he’d first adopted him.

“Hey,” he murmured, cradling Tony’s face, brushing his thumbs across his cheeks. “You can always fly out to visit, too. Weren’t you just telling me it’s been ages since you left town?”

Tony’s mouth ticked up, a smile creeping onto his face. “Not a bad idea, Rogers. Of course, then I’d miss _you_.”

Steve found himself captivated by Tony’s mouth as his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, leaving it shiny. It felt a little like everything slowed down for just a moment, as Tony opened his mouth, perhaps to take back the words, self-confidence faltering in the face of Steve’s silence. So Steve answered the only way he safely could, using his hold on Tony to pull him into another kiss.

Maybe it was the right answer after all, because Tony made a soft, desperate sound, one hand winding up into Steve’s hair, holding tight, keeping him there as he kissed back. And they had done this quite a bit over the last two months, but there was an edge to this kiss that had been absent before. Tony must have felt it, too, was moaning softly into Steve’s mouth, eyelashes fluttering as his pupils went wide with desire.

There was no reason it should have been that particular kiss that finally pushed Steve over the edge, although somewhere in the back of his mind, he found himself wondering if Tony—knowing he’d been kept a secret—had been holding back before, waiting for some sign that he was more than an experiment in dating. Or maybe it was _him_ , finally allowing himself to recognize how much he _wanted_ Tony. 

The idea of having sex again had been almost crushingly intimidating until that precise moment; now, Steve’s body and mind were in absolute agreement about what should happen next. Whatever the reason for the change, Steve was powerless in the face of his reawakening desire, and so he stopped struggling. Tony gasped in surprise as he found himself pushed back against the fridge, then laughed, clear and light and playful, right up until the sound died in his throat. Steve had wedged a thigh between Tony’s legs, had rocked himself against Tony, let him feel how hard he was. 

“Steve,” Tony moaned, purposefully banging his head back against the fridge.

Watching Tony’s mouth—lips pink and puffy from kissing—as he said Steve’s name was almost painful, sent his blood rushing south. He hardly recognized his own voice when he demanded, “Say it again,” hands curling possessively around Tony’s hips.

“ _Steve_ ,” and it was even better, somehow, Tony’s eyes at half mast, and his face flushed.

Tony's fingers dug into Steve’s back almost painfully as he held on, making another of those obscene little sounds when Steve slid his hands down, and around, and grabbed Tony’s ass. It felt as if it had been made for Steve’s hands, and so he squeezed, and used his grip on Tony’s ass to pull him closer. Arms tightened around him, hand back in Steve’s hair, and they were kissing again, Tony sucking hungrily on his lower lip.

Steve was positive he’d never been kissed like that in his life, like Tony was dying, and Steve was the cure, a desperate, joyous, animalistic onslaught that made him believe Tony had not been lying on their first date, back when he’d claimed to be amazing in bed. Which, _fuck_ , could actually happen. It was Steve’s turn to make an embarrassing sound; he was so hard his cock was throbbing in his pants, and he could feel his underwear sticking to him.

“Tony,” Steve said, surprised by how steady his voice was. 

He swallowed, tried to calm down, catch his breath, mesmerized by how wrecked Tony appeared to be. Steve let go of Tony’s ass, tugged his tie out from beneath his vest, and ran the silky fabric through his hands, eyes never leaving Tony’s face.

“Yeah, yes, _Steve_ ,” Tony answered, hearing the question that hadn’t been asked. His tongue darted out over his lower lip again, even as he rolled his hips against Steve. “Whatever you want.”

Which was dangerous and wonderful, that Tony trusted him so easily. There was a great deal Steve wanted, but only so much he felt prepared to give or take. Even in his fantasies, after each and every one of their dates, when he inevitably had himself in hand, eyes squeezed shut as he stroked his cock, there was only so much he allowed to transpire in his imagination.

Tony’s hands, Tony’s _mouth_ , but always, behind his closed eyes, they were mostly dressed, one of Tony’s expensive shirts unbuttoned, showing off the tattoo on his chest, the one Steve had placed there. He’d never seen Tony naked, and the most scandalous thing Tony had seen him in was a t-shirt and jeans. Steve knew if he really wanted to, he could spend some time online and dig up old tabloid trash—a leaked sex tape, photos snapped while Tony was sunbathing nude—but it felt so disrespectful that the entire idea left Steve cold inside.

And now Tony was flushed, and watching him, chest heaving, pressed up against Steve’s refrigerator, saying, “Whatever you want.”

Steve undid the knot of Tony’s tie, tugging it until the piece of fabric hung loose, then went to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly, leaning over his own busy hands in order to kiss Tony again. It was gentler this time, perhaps because they both knew they were heading into uncharted territory with each other.

Tony’s tongue teased him, breath hitching when Steve moved on to the buttons of his vest before returning to the shirt. Tony sighed his name again, body shuddering as Steve slid his hands beneath the fabric of his fancy clothes, big hands stroking Tony’s sides, sliding up and over his chest, thumbs brushing against nipples before sweeping back down again. Tony’s skin was a marvel; silky, smooth, and hot beneath Steve's fingers. Tony arched into the touch, sighing at the possessive roaming of Steve's hands. He was convinced he could come from that alone, just from _touching_ Tony.

Steve stared at the clockwork heart occupying the center of Tony's chest, traced the outline carefully with a finger, then with his tongue. Tony wound his fingers through Steve's hair, as if to comfort him, breath catching when Steve shifted to suck hungrily at a spot along Tony's clavicle, drawing the blood up to the surface, leaving an angry little mark on his skin.

Behind him, Steve's grocery list was hanging haphazardly, and he realized Tony couldn't be that comfortable, what with the fridge magnets digging into his back. So Steve kissed him again, sliding his hands down Tony's back, down over his ass, then did a quick dip and jerk, lifting Tony up off of the ground and into his arms.

"Oh," Tony gasped, shifting the balance so he felt more secure, legs and arms wrapping around Steve. "Okay, that's super hot."

Steve grinned against Tony's skin and walked them over to the couch, setting him down carefully before using the weight of his body to press Tony down into the cushions. Before he quite knew what was happening, Tony had wriggled and shifted, leg hooked up over Steve’s hip, hands sliding down his back to tug his shirt out of his pants. Tony was rocking up against him, the hard outline of his cock pressing maddeningly against Steve's own.

For long moments, they struggled against each other, kissing, Steve sucking at exposed patches of Tony's skin, greedy hands roaming over the hard lines of Tony's body. It was too much until it wasn't nearly enough. Steve pushed himself upright, staring down at the wreck that was Tony Stark, heart pounding in his chest.

"Like what you see?" Tony asked after a minute, stretching like a cat.

Steve did, very much, had been torn from moving on and from stopping altogether to grab his sketchbook, wanting to capture the moment with pen and ink. "You're beautiful," he said, not wanting Tony to think the answer could ever be otherwise.

"You're not so bad yourself," Tony countered, but the compliment had made him _blush_. "Can... Could you take off your shirt?"

Steve paused to push aside the undone layers of Tony's clothing, thumbing his nipples again, letting his fingers trail down over Tony's stomach, through the soft hair, before sliding his palm down over the bulge in Tony's pants.

"Steve," Tony cried out, soft, desperate, pushing against Steve's hand, and that was unfair. _Maddening_.

Unable to help himself, he stroked Tony through his pants for a moment, then followed through on Tony's request, rapidly undoing buttons and pulling his shirt off, tossing it over the back of the couch.

"Fuck," Tony groaned, hiding his face behind his hands for a moment, before pushing up onto an elbow, and reaching for Steve. "You're like a work of art."

Steve glanced down at himself, then back at Tony. But he was obviously serious, was stroking over the hard, defined muscles of Steve's body, eyes darting as he took in all the exposed skin. Steve's tattoos were deeply personal; although Tony would have no points of reference for deciphering them he still felt uncomfortable and exposed. When curious fingers came into contact with his dog tags, Steve snatched at Tony's hand.

"Sorry," he began, but Steve cut him off by kissing Tony's palm, and pulling him up against his chest. Tony blinked, seemingly surprised to find himself suddenly suspended above the couch. "Wow, okay, the manhandling was not something I realized was a turn on, but—"

Steve kissed him quiet, held Tony in place, one arm around his lithe body, bracing himself with the other, palm pressed so firmly into the couch that he could feel the ridges of the fabric digging into his skin. Tony held onto him as if needing to steady himself, fingers dragging across Steve’s skin, and he was so _warm_ , and solid, and wonderful. Steve wanted to rut against him on the couch until they both came in their pants, but that would make the rest of the evening a bit uncomfortable for Tony.

He let go so that Tony fell back against the cushions, fingers poised at Tony's belt buckle, waiting for permission. "Please," he said, moaning softly as Steve undid his pants.

Almost reverently, Steve worked Tony out through the fly of his underwear—cock and balls—before stroking him, once, twice. Tony spread his legs farther somehow, rolled his hips so that he was thrusting into Steve's hand, his skin flushed, eyelashes fluttering.

"Fuck, Steve," he said, voice gone deep and throaty with arousal.

It had been years since he'd touched another person so intimately, and even then, it had never been like _this_. On his couch, in his home, feeling as if his skin was on fire, feeling the strange and fierce pride that came along with the understanding that he was responsible for Tony being in that state.

Steve felt a surge of frustration wash over him; not at Tony, but at himself, and the foolish belief that masturbation could hold a candle to the warm, willing flesh of another living, breathing person. And not any person, either. This was Tony watching him with hooded eyes, smiling as if somehow Steve was the miracle in the room.

He leaned down, close, hands sliding away from Tony's cock to hold his face so Steve could kiss him again, urgently, wonderfully sloppy, Tony's arousal hot where it pressed against his stomach. "You feel amazing," he moaned into Tony's mouth.

"So do you," Tony swore, rocking up and leaving a slick trail on Steve's abdomen. "God, Steve, you have no idea."

"I want to make you come," Steve said once he could speak again. He slid a hand between them and stroked Tony almost roughly.

"Yes, oh, awesome, let's do that," Tony agreed. "Can I touch you? We could—"

"No," Steve interrupted. He pushed himself upright so he could see Tony, pausing to lick his palm, get it nice and wet before he wrapped it back around Tony's cock.

Even as he moaned and worked his hips to push into Steve's fist, Tony looked confused, maybe even disappointed. "I'm too worked up," Steve explained. "I don't want to come yet."

Tony nodded, smile back where it belonged, and Steve felt himself smiling in return. He kept his left hand stroking over Tony's body as his right set an almost punishing pace with his fist, watching Tony to see how best he liked to be stroked, and squeezed.

"I bet your dick is gorgeous," Tony sighed, "like the rest of you."

"You're the gorgeous one," Steve insisted, cupping Tony's balls and tugging gently.

"You'll let me touch you eventually, right?" Tony asked. He was biting down into his lower lip, cock going somehow stiffer, throbbing in Steve's hand. “I’m, _oh_ , big on reciprocity in the bedroom.”

Steve licked his lips, torn between watching Tony's face and his own busy hand. The head of Tony's cock was glistening, prompting Steve to sweep across with his thumb, before fisting over his cockhead entirely, squeezing, sliding the slickness down and over Tony's erection. He gasped, and Steve moved faster, then did it again, lost to the sensation of having someone else’s dick in his hand.

"Steve?"

Tony sounded wrecked. Steve realized he'd never answered the question, so he said, "You're going to suck my cock," his voice firm, authoritative, as if he was giving an order to one of his troops.

To his surprise, Tony cried out, tensed, his body arching as he came. Steve's eyes went wide as he watched, stroking Tony through his orgasm. Thick ribbons of come splattered onto Tony's stomach, his chest, hitting beneath his chin even, the rest dribbling down over Steve's fist, making a fantastic mess of things. Through it all, Tony gasped and moaned Steve's name over and over again, as if it was the only word he knew, until finally he fell back against the couch cushions with a groan.

Steve slowed his hand, carefully milking Tony through the tail end of his orgasm, mouth hanging open in surprise and delight. Tony was making soft, almost wounded sounds, staring up at him as if he was the bright center of the universe. He was undone, covered in semen, and it was one of the most amazing things Steve had ever seen. 

He sat up, dog tags jingling faintly, then licked his hand clean while Tony stared up at him in awe. Tony’s cheeks were flushed, and he was still trying to catch his breath, whimpering helplessly as Steve chased down every trace of Tony that had been left behind on his hand. Steve’s cock was now painfuly hard, still trapped inside his jeans, demanding attention, but he stubbornly ignored his body, too captivated by what he was seeing.

“Would you hate me if I asked to draw you?”

Tony’s eyes went wide, and he shifted up onto his elbows, eyes darting down to the bulge in Steve’s pants, as if he needed to have his erection pointed out to him. “ _Now_?”

Steve licked his lips, and shifted up off of the couch, carefully placing Tony’s legs back down, so that they were splayed almost in invitation. “I sketch fast,” he swore. Steve pushed down on Tony’s shoulders, so that he was sprawled back against the pillows that had been jammed into the corner of the couch, and stroked a finger along the line of his jaw. “Please?”

Blinking, Tony nodded, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Okay. Sure.”

Steve kissed him, then rushed over to grab his sketchbook and pencils, flipping to a fresh sheet, positioned himself at the end of the couch, and brought pencil to paper. Tony’s breathing slowly evened out, his skin losing some of its glow while he tried to remain still, and let Steve capture the moment.

It was rough at best, but he could do the rest later, from memory. For now, he worked the lean lines of Tony’s body into the paper, the pencil making a satisfying sound as it moved rapidly across the page. The splay of his legs, the arm thrown up over his head, the way his clothes hung open. Steve’s pulse pounded in his cock as he attempted to recreate the little marks he’d left behind on Tony’s skin, the obscene splatter of come on his chest, the plushness of his lower lip, the dark smudge of his lashes.

But he could only ignore his own arousal for so long, and unsurprisingly it was only a matter of minutes before he was tossing the sketchbook and pencil onto the coffee table, leaning over to begin licking Tony clean.

“Shit.” Tony giggled, as if Steve’s tongue was tickling him. 

He slid a hand into Steve’s hair, then used his grip to pull Steve up, and close, and then they were kissing again. With an almost piteous moan, Steve rubbed himself against Tony’s thigh.

“Let me,” Tony murmured, pushing at Steve’s shoulders. With some manhandling of his own, Tony shoved him up and back, until he sat up properly, legs spread, leaning back into the crook of the couch. “You’re unbelievable.”

Steve hummed his agreement, far too preoccupied with watching Tony’s hands make quick work of his fly. The jeans were unzipped, tugged open, and then he took the hint and lifted his hips, so that Tony was able to work pants and underwear down to his thighs in one swift, overeager move. Steve gasped in relief as his cock sprung loose, bobbing before him.

“I could _weep_ ,” Tony blurted, wasting no time whatsoever. Steve yelped as Tony licked a hot stripe across the head of his dick, then involuntarily thrust his hips, pushing himself against Tony’s kiss swollen lips. “ _Steve_.” Then Tony opened his mouth a bit, lips sliding over Steve, eyelashes fluttering as he sucked the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth.

Already, he was close to coming. It had been years and _years_ since anyone had touched him, let alone done something like _this_ , and never ever, in all his life, had Steve been given head by someone as good at it as Tony was. Tony sucked cock like he’d _invented_ it, like this was just another of his many splendid contributions to mankind. He moaned around Steve’s cock, sucked him down, and down, tongue working all the while, lips stretched obscenely around him. He made soft, happy noises as his head bobbed, and Steve drank it all in, making some interesting noises of his own as he curled a hand around the back of Tony’s head.

It took a great deal of self restraint to keep from pushing Tony down onto his cock, but Steve managed it, distracting himself by toying with Tony’s hair, or stroking his jaw. His hips twitched despite his best attempts to remain still, so Tony slid to the floor between his knees, pinned his hips down against the couch as best he could with his forearms, and if anything, became _more_ enthusiastic.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve gasped, because apparently that had only been a tease. 

Tony was now sucking his cock in earnest, taking Steve into the back of his throat, and _swallowing_. He did it again and again, making filthy sounds all the while, and Steve had to hold onto the couch for dear life, scared he’d hurt Tony if he kept holding onto him. He could feel Tony’s saliva dribbling down the side of his cock, could feel himself throbbing, Tony’s tongue wrapping around him reverently, then it was back into the velvet clutch of Tony’s throat again. 

Steve felt himself on the verge of tipping over the edge. “M’ gonna,” he managed to choke out, wanting to warn Tony.

And it made no sense whatsoever, but in that moment, poised on the edge of orgasm, as he felt Tony sucking enthusiastically, looking up him as if to say, “I _want_ you to come in my mouth, idiot,” Steve finally made a connection somewhere in the back of his mind. Tony was his _boyfriend_. Had been since the first time Steve had pushed through his anxiety, and fear, and gave in to the desire to kiss Tony’s lovely mouth. Steve had been carefully avoiding giving what they’d been doing a name, and he wasn’t sure _why_ that was, only that it had made sense at the time. Tony was more than a guy he went on dates with, occasionally made out with, or thought about much too much for his own good; he was Steve's boyfriend, stupid as the word sounded, even in his head.

So he was laughing, and feeling like an idiot, even as his body jerked, and tensed, and he felt a wave of pleasure unlike anything he’d ever experienced wash through him, and emptied himself into Tony’s willing, eager mouth. Tony stroked him, humming contentedly, while Steve marveled at the sight. Tony swallowed and swallowed, eyelids fluttering as Steve’s hips jerked spasmodically, thrusting almost roughly into Tony’s mouth as he came.

A misplaced wave of panic surged up in Steve’s chest, the weight of what they’d done hitting him wrong, but only for a moment. He hadn’t planned on having sex when he’d invited Tony over, and as eager as he already was for a repeat performance, Steve wasn’t exactly a guy who’d had a lot of practice in that department. What if the first time was a fluke, or Tony got bored once he realized how inexperienced Steve was, or… Steve took a deep breath, and reminded himself that Tony wasn’t the sort to make demands of him, seemed happy to take whatever Steve was willing to offer, when he was comfortable offering. 

Steve knew he wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with. Since the war, he could be moody at times, withdrawn, the idea of making small talk, or being around anyone other than Peter too exhausting to contemplate. And Tony never made him feel guilty for it, took it in stride, didn’t pressure him the way he sometimes felt pressured by Bucky, or Sam. Even though they were trying to help, Steve still felt as if by allowing them to notice him struggling, he was in some way letting them down.

No, Tony was… was so much more considerate than he’d imagined anyone could be. Was happy to fill the silences for them, allow Steve to be quiet, if he wanted. Tony smiled at him like no one ever had before, and somehow coaxed Steve through his occasional feelings of inadequacy.

“I feel like I should be applauding,” Steve said, happy when this got the laugh he’d hoped for. Tony snorted, burrowing his face against Steve’s hip. He could feel the laughter there, the curve of Tony’s smile against his skin, and sighed. Steve slid his hand up through Tony’s hair, fingers dragging across his scalp, cradling the back of his head possessively. “That was amazing.”

“M’ glad you liked it,” Tony mumbled, lips and beard tickling Steve’s oversensitized skin. “Only the first of many, I hope.”

Steve didn’t allow himself to ignore the edge of vulnerability in Tony’s voice, felt very much as if he was long overdue in reassuring Tony that they were, in fact, doing this relationship thing together after all. Steve pulled him up off of his knees and into his arms, sliding forward on the couch so they were pressed as close together as possible. The surge of happiness he felt at the contact was almost alarming in its intensity, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, needed Tony there, against him. Steve wrapped his arms around Tony as if worried someone might try to pull them apart, and sighed when he was held in return. Strong hands slid across his back, along his shoulders, up into his hair, as if Tony couldn’t help himself, needed to touch as much of Steve as possible.

One or the other of them shifted, and then he was kissing Tony again, tenderly, tasting himself in Tony’s mouth, and shuddering. He felt blissed out, relaxed and happy in a way that seemed unfathomable given his earlier mood. So Steve laughed, and smiled, and before too long, they were both smiling, the kiss turning into something playful.

“What am I going to do about you?” Tony asked, stroking the side of Steve’s face. His eyes were so very warm, his tone so contented that Steve found himself blushing in response. “And you said I was a menace.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a paragon of virtue,” Steve countered, deadpan.

Tony laughed, rocking back before leaning forward to press his face against Steve’s chest, shoulders shaking. “Yeah, well, you still owe me dinner, Mr. Paragon of Virtue.”

Which was true. Steve was still a little hazy on how they’d gone from point A to point B, but now that he was there, he had no complaints. “Fair enough. I’ll get on it as soon as my legs are working again.”

Tony gave him another squeeze, then shifted to sit on the couch beside him, a goofy smile slapped firmly on his face as he watched Steve wrestle his pants back up. “Okay if I go wash up?” he asked, sliding a warm hand over the muscles of Steve’s arm.

“Go for it.”

Steve watched Tony leave, then finished getting dressed and forced himself upright before he fell asleep. By the time Tony returned, Steve was in the kitchen, washing vegetables, and feeling so blissed out it was like his feet weren’t actually touching the floor.

Tony, now buttoned up and back in his clothes, sans necktie, walked into the kitchen and curled himself around Steve’s back, winding an arm around his middle, and holding tight. And that was unspeakably nice, feeling Tony there, warm and solid, head resting between Steve’s shoulder blades.

For some reason, he remembered Bucky saying how proud he was, and felt almost as if he understood why. Wondered if it had been a struggle for Bucky, back when he’d realized what was happening between himself and Clint. Maybe some day he’d ask Bucky how he’d made sense of it all, but for now, he was going to make Tony dinner, share a quiet evening, and not worry about anything whatsoever. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone that celebrates the holiday had a Happy Thanksgiving! ;D I'm thankful for all the love and support that has been rolling my way as I release this beast into the wild. Thanks to every one of you who has read a chapter, and kudo'd, or commented, or screamed with me on tumblr. Which you should feel free to do, btw! Cut through the cruft using the tags: <http://finely-honed.tumblr.com/tagged/deep-in-the-heart-of-me>. Also, there is [ALREADY ART](http://finely-honed.tumblr.com/post/133463570747/kamaete-for-finely-honed-s-deep-in-the-heart)!!! kamaete is a GIFT! Shower her in love.
> 
> Meanwhile, hope you liked the sexy times. Don't let them distract you from the beautiful mess that is PTSD Steve, because our boy is Not Okay. Not even close.
> 
> Also... how 'bout that trailer, huh? I'm... not okay. Nothing will ever be okay, so I'm going to make it better, although it is going to really hurt at times along the way. But we all like that, don't we? Must have the pain to make the fluffy pleasure better.
> 
> SEE YOU NEXT MONDAY!!! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other side of things, a month or so down the line. Tony is good at justifications, but without the necessary context, his conclusions may fall short of the mark. Steve demonstrates a surprising lack of understanding about how apologies work, although Tony's not complaining. _Yet_. Even though he should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do remember, Steve is Not Okay. Not even close.

“Oh, before I forget, how was Peter’s birthday party?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, glad for the first time ever that Rhodey was out of the country, and unable to see his reaction in person. 

“Good.” He waited, but there was no response from the other end of the line, which meant he hadn’t sounded particularly convincing.

Rhodey sighed, long and loud. “Come on, out with it, Tones. You didn’t go and buy the kid a pony or something equally ridiculous, did you?”

“Nope. I was the picture of restraint,” Tony insisted, resigning himself to having an uncomfortable conversation.

“Why do I feel like I’m pulling teeth here?” Rhodey asked, sounding concerned.

With a sigh, Tony flopped down onto his couch, and stared out at the city. “It was a five-year old’s birthday party. What’s there to tell?”

“Tony, you don’t get _quiet_ when everything is okay,” Rhodey insisted. “What happened?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. It was a typical kid’s birthday party; presents, cake, singing, candles. The end.”

Tony chewed on the cuticle of his thumb, leg bobbing up and down as he waited for Rhodey’s reply. It was his own fault, really, because the last time they’d talked, Tony had gone and told Rhodey about the party, his excitement over the whole affair such a novelty that it’d clearly stuck in his friend’s head.

“Well, that’s… Wait. Hold up. _As far as you know_?” 

With a barely suppressed groan, Tony got up and paced around the room. Leave it to Rhodey to actually listen to the crap that came out of his mouth. “Yup.”

“You weren’t there.”

“Uh, no, not as such.”

“Tony! You blew off the kid’s party?” Rhodey’s exasperation came through loud and clear. “The hell is wrong with you? How pissed is Steve?”

Rhodey’s words stung, but Tony couldn’t really blame him for the assumption he’d made. Anyone who knew him would have jumped to the same conclusion.

“Believe me, he’s not mad,” Tony answered once he trusted his voice. “Hey, I know it’s getting late there, so, ah, how about—”

“ _Why_ isn’t he mad?” Rhodey asked. He’d switched over to his no-nonsense voice and everything. “And no circle talking.”

Tony took a deep breath and stopped pacing. “I wasn’t invited to the party,” he managed to say, hating how pathetic he sounded. There wasn’t any response to this confession. “So, yeah, no reason for him to be mad.”

“ _Tony_.”

Hearing Rhodey say his name with so much sympathy was worse than the silence, and Tony had the sudden urge to begin making excuses on Steve’s behalf, lest Rhodey get the wrong idea. Tony had spent the last few days reminding himself that he wasn’t a parent, and had never dated someone with a kid before. Steve would always need to be a father first, and a partner second, and if Tony's ego couldn't handle it, that was on _him_ , not Steve.

“It was an intimate family function,” Tony said, happy to hear how calm he sounded. “Besides, the day was supposed to be about Peter, not his dad’s new boyfriend.”

“Huh. You know, that might be the most mature thing you’ve ever said to me?” Tony could hear the indulgent smile in Rhodey’s voice, and relaxed. “Remember you can call me to vent, and I won’t judge.”

“Thanks, honeybear.” Tony said. “It’s fine, really. I’m just impatient.”

“Enjoy the freedom while you still have it,” Rhodey suggested before they said their goodbyes.

It was good advice, really. 

As far as Tony was aware, there was no hard and fast rule for when to introduce your kid to a new romantic partner. He might have spent quite a bit of time reading up on the topic, and while visiting mommy blogs had caused him to lose the tiniest bit of respect for himself, it had also been illuminating.

For Tony, it was simple. He was crazy about Steve, and wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, but as a responsible father, Steve needed to have an entirely different perspective on his relationships. Even if he was equally crazy about Tony, or anyone else he dated, introductions made too soon could contribute to Peter having abandonment issues if the relationship fizzled out. Waiting too long was equally risky, considering you might find out too late that your potential partner wasn’t cut out to be a parent.

On the upside, there wasn’t another parent to contend with, so Tony didn’t have to worry about that drama, or Peter feeling torn between two households. The idea of _replacing_ a parent wasn’t really an issue, either. By all accounts, Peter didn’t remember his birth parents, even though Steve had photos of them hung in their home, and made a point of talking about the Parkers with his son. Of course, this also meant that Steve was the only parent Peter had, and Tony could imagine it would be kind of scary to suddenly find yourself having to share your dad with a stranger. Especially if that stranger was Tony Stark.

When he approached everything from a logical viewpoint, Tony had to admit that Steve’s behavior was entirely appropriate. The problem was, Tony didn’t generally mix logic with romance, so his feelings had gotten more than a little hurt in the process of being reality checked by Steve over the birthday party.

The entire thing was a misunderstanding, really. They’d been out together on a beautiful night, and Tony had made a comment about the scent of fall being in the air, which in turn led to a conversation about the color of the changing leaves, pumpkins, apple cider, Halloween, and all things autumn. Somewhere in there Steve had mentioned Peter’s birthday was in October, and that they were having a space themed party.

Usually, Tony was the one to bring Peter into their conversations. Tony had always assumed once you had a kid it was all you ever wanted to talk about; it had always seemed that way whenever he’d interacted with parents. Not that he blamed them, of course. He’d do the same thing if he had a kid.

Steve, on the other hand, seemed reluctant to discuss Peter. Tony assumed it was because Steve was worried Tony might not appreciate him turning every date into a _look at how cool my kid is_ fest. Wanting to make it clear he was interested in more than a casual relationship, whenever they were together Tony looked for opportunities to demonstrate his willingness to listen. Either he’d been too subtle, or Steve enjoyed taking a break from thinking like a parent, because nothing had changed. They’d see each other, and Tony would ask after Peter, and depending on his mood Steve would actually say more than, “He’s great, thanks for asking.”

So, when Steve brought up the birthday party all of his own accord, Tony might have read a bit more into the conversation than he should have. Immediately, his mind had gone to ways he could help make it Peter’s best birthday ever. Tony knew _actual_ astronauts, could arrange for them to talk to the kids about space, and how they should start thinking about focusing on getting a degree in engineering, biological science, physical science, or mathematics if they wanted to be astronauts themselves one day.

By the end of the night, he had a mental list prepared, and even if Rhodey talked him out of bribing astronauts to attend a kid’s birthday party, or arranging for a call from the International Space Station, he was still excited.

“Wait, _what_?”

“Is he into the moon, and our solar system, or is Peter more of a galaxies and nebulas kind of kid?”

Tony pushed his chair across the room, pulling up several windows worth of product descriptions. After Rhodey had talked him down, Tony had decided bringing a single gift would be more in keeping with Steve’s aesthetic, anyway. Everyone else would probably be giving Peter toys, so Tony figured a telescope would be a pretty safe bet, as far as gifts went, and had narrowed it down to several choices.

Steve still hadn’t said anything, prompting Tony to check the clock to make sure he hadn’t lost track of time, but according to the display it was just shy of four thirty in the afternoon.

“Hang on a second?” Steve said, and through the speakers of the workshop, Tony heard a muffled, “you can have a cookie after dinner.”

Tony was still grinning when Steve got back on the line, a bit too much of the serious Captain Rogers in his voice for Tony’s liking. “Why are you asking, Tony?”

The smile slowly slid off of his face, and Tony shifted so the websites were at his back, as if to hide them somehow. “Uh, just, you said it was a space themed party, so I was thinking a space themed present made sense.”

“You don’t need to buy him anything.”

Tony swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, feeling very much like he’d gone and fucked up somehow. “Well, yeah, Steve, I know I don’t _have_ to, but, ah, it’s his birthday, so—”

“I don’t _want_ you buying him anything, Tony.” There was a hard edge to Steve’s voice, and even if he’d been stupid enough to try, Tony knew arguing would be a total waste of time. “So if you already went out and blew a wad of cash on a present, go right ahead and return it.”

“No returns necessary,” Tony managed. There was a slight tremor to his voice, so he dug his fingernails into his palms and held his breath.

“Good.” Steve didn’t seem particularly pleased, though. Tony opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out whether or not he should apologize, when Steve added, “You do realize the party is for family only, right?”

And there it was. Tony bent over, braced his elbows on his knees, dropping his head into his hands, mentally chastising himself for being such an idiot.

“Yeah, yes, of course,” he stammered, sounding far from convincing. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t pass it along and—”

“And say what?” Steve asked. “Peter doesn’t know you.”

“Right, no,” Tony answered, defeated. “Of course not. Sorry. Stupid idea.”

Steve sighed, and Tony found himself in the odd position of feeling guilty for having had his feelings hurt. 

“I get you’re trying to be nice,” Steve said after a moment, “and I appreciate that. Look, I’ve gotta get dinner started. Was there anything else, or can I catch up with you later?”

“Nope, that was it.”

“Okay. Bye.”

For the next twenty minutes Tony stayed exactly as he was when Steve hung up—hunched over and staring at his shoes—but then in a flurry of motion spun around, closed all the browsers, cleared the history, and shut down that particular computer for good measure. Then he turned off his phone, turned on the soundsystem, and grabbed the bottle of emergency scotch he kept in the workshop.

“One glass,” he told no one at all, and although he made it a generous pour, Tony managed to keep the promise to himself.

A couple hours later, he was more focused on catching up with his overdue reports to Pepper than he was on feeling sorry for himself. Resignation had begun to set in. Until he was allowed to meet Peter, he was going to be stuck on the outside of Steve’s life, looking in, and the only way Tony was meeting Steve’s son was by showing Steve he was in it for the long haul. Getting himself all worked up over being left off the invite list for Peter’s birthday party wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

Doing some quick math made Tony feel a bit better. Numbers he could understand. They were calming, behaved as you expected, and gave him a little perspective. No matter how long it _felt_ , in reality it had only been 130 days since they’d met, 101 since the first time Steve had kissed him. Only 31 days, 22 hours, and 16 minutes since Tony had stepped foot inside of Steve’s home for the first time.

Really, as far Clint and Bucky knew, Steve had only been dating him for a month. Sam and Natasha knew better, but had kept their mouths shut. Tony was willing to put money on the rest of Steve’s family still being in the dark. Considering Steve wasn’t ready to tell his parents about them yet, it was no surprise he’d reacted badly to the idea of Tony attending the birthday party.

So, sure, he wasn’t parent material yet, but at least everyone at the shop was aware Steve was off the market. Natasha wasn’t in the awkward position of keeping a secret on his behalf anymore, and he’d even been invited back to Steve’s apartment. Only once, but that was better than nothing. They’d even managed to have dinner _before_ fooling around on the couch.

Tony stopped that particular train of thought, and refocused on his work before his entire night went right off the rails, and into the gutter. By the time he finished, Tuesday evening had become Wednesday afternoon. Tony sent the batch of backlogged work to Pepper, congratulated himself on being productive and mature, and then went to bed for a few hours. 

Later, when he remembered to turn his phone back on, there was only the tiniest bit of disappointment that there was no voicemail, or text message from Steve. But, in the spirit of his newfound maturity, Tony reminded himself that Steve was juggling a kid in addition to a full time job, and just sent off one of his own.

And sure, it would have been nice to hear _something_ that night, even just an acknowledgement, but whatever. That didn’t mean Steve was still mad at him. Or possibly rethinking their entire relationship, and coming to the logical conclusion that Tony wasn’t worth the time and effort. With the way Steve looked, guys would line up around the block for a chance at a little don’t ask, don’t tell.

By the time Thursday night rolled around, Tony was sitting at the bar in his empty penthouse, preparing to make an exception to his one drink policy, when there was a knock at the door. He stashed the bottle, then went to investigate. Security wouldn’t let just anyone up, so chances were Bruce was checking up on him.

Only, when he opened the door, it was Steve standing there at parade rest, wearing his leather jacket and holding his motorcycle helmet. Tony’s heart felt like it flipped over in his chest at the sight of him. Steve hadn’t shaved in a couple days, and his cheeks were still pink from the ride over, his bright eyes shining with an alarming level of intensity.

“Hey,” he said, and Tony had the oddest impulse to shut the door in Steve’s face. Instead he stood there, not saying anything at all like an idiot, until Steve tilted his head as if to peer past Tony. “Is it okay if I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tony finally managed, stepping aside, and following Steve with his eyes. 

Tony gave the door a little shove, let it swing closed, and wished he’d bothered to shower and change. Of course, considering how it went the last time they’d talked, and the fact that Steve hadn’t bothered to respond to any of Tony’s texts, him showing up unannounced was probably not good. In fact, the only thing that made sense was that Steve was there to dump him in person.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Tony asked nervously.

Steve shrugged himself out of his jacket, tossed it onto the chair with his helmet, and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing trails of tattoos. His brows drew together slightly, mouth twitching at the corner. “That would be _you_ , Tony. Why else would I be in Manhattan?”

“Ha, right, good point. Can I get you a drink?”

Tony was halfway to the bar when Steve snagged him around the waist, and pulled him in close. Suddenly, Tony had nowhere to look but up and into those intense eyes. Steve was warm, and smelled amazing, and felt even better, one of his large hands splayed across Tony’s lower back, the other tucked under his chin. Tony shuddered, feeling a bit too much like a deer in headlights to be in any way comfortable.

“Tony,” Steve said, tender and deep, so that he felt his own name rumble through Steve’s chest. 

Tony exhaled in a little puff of relief, because he was almost certain Steve hadn’t come to dump him, was positive a moment later when Steve’s mouth was on his, hungry and possessive. The noise he made might have been embarrassing if Steve hadn’t swallowed it so willingly, hadn’t chased after it with his tongue.

It was strange, finding himself in the position of attempting to keep up, but there he was, completely unbalanced. Steve hummed as he worked his way from Tony’s mouth over to his ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth before nuzzling, his stubble tickling more than it burned. Warm hands roamed across Tony’s body, one sliding under his shirt, the other down the back of his pants. 

Tony got with the program, pushed at Steve’s shirt until it was bunched up under his armpits, prompting Steve to just yank it up and off and out of the way. He grabbed Tony’s t-shirt while he was at it, so that when they crashed back together it was skin against skin.

As he did whenever given the opportunity, Tony worked his fingers over the curves of Steve’s muscled body, trying to trace and memorize every delectable inch of him. Steve’s mouth was a furnace, his hands were everywhere, leaving trails of fire in their wake, until Tony was left holding on for dear life, hard, and desperate. 

His head was tipped back to make it easier for Steve to suck and kiss his neck and shoulder, so Tony was looking at the ceiling when his pants were tugged open, prompting Steve to start laughing.

“Really?”

Tony came back to himself enough to look down, and slump with embarrassment. “I wasn’t exactly expecting company,” he said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with _Star Trek_ themed underwear.”

“No, of course not,” Steve agreed, promptly shoving them out of the way, and dropping to his knees.

That was pretty much the only warning Tony had before Steve started licking his cock like it was a melting ice cream cone. Not that he was complaining, mind you. Certainly no complaints, even if he was suffering from a bit of emotional whiplash.

Steve was a fast learner, already knew how much Tony got off on seeing himself push past Steve’s plush lips, so he spent a good bit of time working the head of Tony’s cock in and out of his mouth, tongue wriggling deliciously against Tony as he sucked. Tony’s breathing was already ragged, his legs unsteady, and he hoped he didn’t do anything embarrassing, like fall over.

Bright eyes watched him through thick lashes, Steve’s cheeks hollowed as he worked Tony’s cock. It was _criminal_ , how pretty Steve looked on his knees. Tony had no idea how he managed to do it, but Steve was capable of looking up at him with an expression of pure innocence, as if he’d never so much as had an impure thought before, let alone let anyone put their dick in his mouth. He was doing it now, those baby blues flashing as he pulled his hands off of Tony long enough to work open the front of his pants.

“Unbelievable,” Tony groaned. 

He dragged his fingers through Steve’s hair, tugging once, then again when it made Steve moan. Taking it as encouragement, Tony held Steve still and thrust into his mouth, keeping it shallow, tilting his head to the side so he could watch Steve jerking himself off.

With a scandalous, wet slurping sound, Steve took away the heat and suction of his mouth, then yanked at the backs of Tony’s knees, bringing him crashing down into Steve’s lap. Tony yelped, hardly had time to adjust before Steve was kissing him, lining up their cocks, thrusting against Tony.

Tony leaned into Steve, wriggling around until he could get one leg free from his pants, which made it easier to straddle Steve’s lap, to grind against him. And that was hot, and a little crazy, Steve’s hand wrapped around both of their dicks, stroking roughly, the other hand squeezing Tony’s ass, guiding the movement of his hips.

He cried out again as he was pushed down onto the floor, rocked himself up against Steve, holding onto him tight enough to bruise. Steve moaned, and kept kissing him, hot and hard and insistent, and damn him, it _wasn’t enough_. The slide of Steve’s cock against his own was like a tease; Tony wanted to feel Steve buried _inside_ of him.

Steve pushed himself upright, shifting the angle, one hand splayed across Tony’s chest, holding him down. And fuck, that was mind melting, the way Steve’s muscles glistened with a light sheen of sweat, the ink a riot of color against his skin, his pupils blown wide, the dog tags jingling loudly as he picked up the pace. His hair was a mess, and it was beautiful, his mouth pink and swollen as he smiled down at Tony. Steve was still mostly in his pants, and the new position had soft denim rubbing maddeningly against Tony’s ass.

As he watched, Steve paused, leaned over to spit down into his fist, worked it over their dicks, which should not been nearly as compelling as it was, but with the impish smile, and the sparkle in his baby blues? Forget about it. A couple more twists of his wrist, and Tony was arching up off of the floor, desperately thrusting against Steve, and then coming hard enough he actually saw spots.

Steve eased up his wonderfully punishing grip, repositioned Tony like he was a ragdoll, and slid himself through the sticky aftermath of Tony’s orgasm. Steve moaned his appreciation when Tony took hold of him, their hands working together to get Steve off, his fingers slippery with his own release, while they kissed sloppily, breathlessly.

A couple minutes later, Steve was lying beside him on the floor, each of them catching their breath. It wasn’t comfortable, but Tony didn’t really care. He was pretty sure he could happily fall asleep right then and there. Except he was getting cold, was covered in semen, and his back kind of hurt.

“You know, some people have sex in a bed.”

Steve snorted, then rolled over on his side, leaning over to kiss Tony’s chin. “Are you complaining?”

Tony allowed himself to be distracted by the soft, indulgent smile Steve was wearing. “No,” he answered eventually.

“Good. I’d hate to think you found my apology lacking.”

“What?” Tony asked, feeling stupid in the aftermath of his orgasm.

Steve lowered his eyes, lashes fluttering prettily. “The other night, on the phone,” he said, voice a low rumble. “If I seemed harsh, that wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s fine,” Tony swore, sliding his hand up along the muscled expanse of Steve’s back, rubbing soothing circles. “I get it, you know. It’s too soon. I’m just…”

“What?” Steve asked, finally looking Tony in the eyes again as his words trailed off. 

There was still a faint pink flush to Steve’s cheeks, and Tony could admit he’d never stood a chance. He had been doomed from the start, doomed to fall in love with this man. Tony wanted to confess how crazy he was about Steve, but was too scared to let the words leave his lips. They were tangled together on his floor, but Tony was the only one _actually_ naked, and that seemed like an important distinction all of a sudden.

“Sorry,” he finished lamely. “If I overstepped.”

“It’s okay.” Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You were trying to be considerate.”

Which was true.

It was also true that, hours later, when he was alone once again, staring out the windows at the city nightscape, Tony went over their conversation in his head, and realized that Steve had never actually gotten around to saying he was _sorry_.

Tony wished he could hook himself up to one of his machines, find a way to partition himself, to quarantine the uncomfortable feelings Steve’s impromptu visit had left behind. It wasn’t so much that he needed to hear the words—Steve had been in the right as far as Peter’s party was concerned—but it would have been nice.

The sad truth was, Tony knew he would take whatever Steve was willing to offer, and consider himself lucky to have anything at all. So if that was the reality of the situation, there was no point in moping about what Steve was holding back.

A week later, when Bruce sent Tony a text during Peter’s birthday party, asking where he was, Tony had a hard time replying. Apparently there was no issue with Natasha bringing a friend along for the “family only” event. Tony understood there was a big difference between Bruce attending and Steve surprising everyone with the boyfriend they didn’t know he had, but that didn’t make it feel any better. Everything he typed sounded petulant, and pathetic, but eventually he put words together and hit send.

_Still too soon. See you at next year’s, though._

Ten minutes later, his phone vibrated again, only this time it was Natasha. The video was only forty some seconds long, but Tony watched it again, and again, and again. Steve was crouched down beside Peter’s chair, helping him blow out his candles. It was a little like looking at a different person entirely. Steve’s smile was wide, his eyes bright with adoration as he watched Peter, cheered him on, hugged his son.

Now that Tony knew what love looked like on Steve’s face, he was glad he’d kept his mouth shut. It was still too soon. Steve might not feel it yet, but that didn’t mean he _never_ would.

With a sigh, Tony hesitated, but ultimately deleted the video. Keeping it when Steve hadn’t intended for the moment to be shared seemed wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, have you SEEN THIS ART? Remember back in Ch. 6 when Steve and Tony were having sex, and it was joyous, and felt like the beginning of something beautiful? Well, kamaete made all my dreams come true with this bit of [gorgeous naughty art right here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5330468/chapters/12308252). SHE IS A GODDESS AND I WORSHIP AT HER ALTAR.
> 
> Second, let's all hug Tony, because he's going to need them. Steve, Steve, _Steve_. Sigh. Let Tony's love lift you up and out of the dark, painful hole you've decided your heart deserves to be buried in. 
> 
> This will become clear later, but I don't think it spoilery to mention at this junction that Steve has never been in a proper relationship before. Inexperience, fear, trust issues, Survivor's Guilt, and PTSD = not doing a very good job with boyfriending at the moment. Steve needs hugs, too, only he doesn't realize it.
> 
> Happy Monday?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Veterans Day, and while he's unable to express them in any way, shape, or form, Steve has a lot of feelings about this. Bucky does the brother thing, and pokes Steve with a stick, then applies tequila to the situation. Tony tries to help, and despite being successful, finds himself once again on the outside looking in. Steve _still_ doesn't understand how apologizing works, which will very much be brought to his attention in next Monday's chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there, friends.

As a rule, Steve wasn’t a drinker. Or, rather, he’d drink to be social—nursing a beer after hours with his team, enjoying a glass of wine with a meal—but tried to steer far clear of tipsy, let alone drunk. 

Some of it was just the way Steve was wired; he was the only guy he knew without a ‘that time I snuck booze from my parents’ liquor cabinet’ story. Had, in fact, tried to talk Bucky out of dipping into the Schnapps when they were younger, and felt very vindicated when his brother was caught, up until he was punished right along with Bucky.

“He’s your brother,” Dum Dum had said, shaking his head with disappointment as Bucky tried and failed to keep down a sip of water. “The only brother you got, Steve. Brothers look out for each other, and they stand together. ‘Specially when one of them is being an idiot.”

Intellectually, Steve had known the point Dum Dum was making, but the words had struck a chord within him, and he’d felt almost painfully responsible for his brother ever since. He could still close his eyes, and see Bucky hunched over the toilet, and the disappointed look in his father’s eyes as he rubbed soothing circles against Bucky’s back. In fact, that memory had run on loop every time he closed his eyes for a full _year_ after Bucky’s arm was blown off.

Once Steve had joined the Army, it had only been a matter of time before this overwhelming sense of accountability extended to all of the men and women serving with him, and that was _before_ making captain. After was worse, especially when one of his people was wounded, or god forbid killed in action. 

Unfortunately, he’d seen how very easy it was for a perfectly normal, relaxing day to get blown all to hell from one moment to the next. Steve needed to be stone cold sober and ready to handle whatever came his way, especially now that he had Peter counting on him. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his son while he was busy fighting his way to the bottom of a bottle.

There were two standing exceptions to Steve’s version of sobriety. Memorial Day and Veterans Day.

And, since it was Veterans Day, the shop was closed, Peter was staying with his aunt and uncle, and Steve was at a bar, trying to talk his friends out of ordering a round of shots, and failing miserably.

“I know for a fact you’ve never had tequila,” Bucky practically shouted into his ear. “Time to broaden your horizons, Stevie.”

Steve didn’t waste time arguing. He knew Bucky would order the round of shots regardless, and when they showed up, Steve would slide his across the table and Clint would happily take it off his hands. But for now, he’d stay comfortably tucked into the corner of their booth, his brother’s arm heavy and warm around his shoulders, and enjoy nursing his beer.

Bucky leaned across the table to snag the last of the onion rings, half dragging Steve along with him, so that he was hunched over and laughing about it when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He knew it was irrational, but anytime the phone rang when Peter wasn’t with him, Steve assumed something horrible had happened to his son.

When he fished it out of his pocket, the display showed that Tony was calling, which was a relief, but also left Steve frowning down at his phone. The bar was loud, and he was a bit tipsy, and out with his friends, because it was _Veterans Day_. He doubted Tony even knew when Veterans Day was.

Steve’s thumb hovered, but then he swiped the call to voicemail, and tossed the phone down on the table. Bucky slouched back into his seat again; he was all narrowed eyes, and Steve braced himself, figuring chances were pretty good he wasn’t going to like whatever came out of Bucky’s mouth next. 

“That loverboy?” Bucky asked. His eyes darted to the phone’s display as it flashed again, indicating Tony Stark had left a voicemail, and Bucky had the nerve to smirk. “Go ahead and call him back.”

“He can buy the next round,” Clint suggested. He tossed three peanuts up into the air, and caught two of them on the way down, the last bouncing off of his nose when Natasha gave him a little shove. “Aw, peanut, no.”

“It’s Veterans Day,” was Steve’s answer. He thought this was self explanatory, but his friends were watching him as if waiting for him to say something else.

“Hence him honoring us with a round,” Clint explained slowly, once it was obvious Steve was done speaking.

Bucky was sitting close enough to pick up on the tension in Steve’s shoulders, and gave him a little squeeze. “Hey, no, I get it,” he said, scrubbing his hand affectionately along the nape of Steve’s neck. “Veterans Day,” he added, low and somber.

“I’ll drink to that,” Sam agreed, and everyone raised their glasses.

Steve had hoped that would be the end of that, but of course, Bucky wasn’t done yet. “So, how’s all that going, anyhow?”

“Fine.” Bucky shifted so he was no longer half draped along Steve’s side, and propped his chin in his hand, eyebrows raised expectantly. “What?”

“Fine. _Fine_?” There was some commotion, and Steve assumed by the way Bucky shook that Natasha had kicked him under the table. Bucky raised the shiny middle finger of his prosthetic in Natasha’s direction, never breaking eye contact with Steve. “Fine sounds _boring_. Are you seriously telling me dating a hot billionaire is boring?”

Steve felt the muscle in his jaw twitch of its own accord, apparently disapproving of Bucky’s use of the word hot when applied to Tony, despite the accuracy of the descriptor. Unbidden, Steve’s mind conjured up a memory of Tony’s impish smile as he licked his way down Steve’s body, and his blood sang with arousal.

“There’s nothing _boring_ about Tony,” Steve said with a bit more innuendo than he’d intended.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up higher. “Well, okay then. Congrats.” He raised his glass and polished off the contents. “So, what’s the deal, is it just a sex thing with you two?”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked incredulously. He could feel the back of his neck heating up.

“Hey, Buck.” Clint threw a peanut at Bucky’s head. “Leave off. If he doesn’t wanna talk about his lovelife, he doesn’t have to.”

Steve ignored Clint, and snapped his fingers to get his brother’s attention again; Bucky was busy blowing kisses at Clint, who was pulling a scowling Natasha in front of him as a human shield. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, I’m not judging.” Bucky shrugged, then gestured to the phone. “He calls, you don’t answer. You never talk about him. You're keepin' him a secret from our dads. Even though we’ve met the guy, he never comes by the shop, or hangs out with any of us. So, I just figured, either you’re embarrassed by us, which makes no sense, cause we’re awesome,” Bucky and Clint clinked their glasses together, “embarrassed by _him_ , or—again, not judging—it’s a no strings attached sex thing.”

Steve stared at his brother, too surprised and confused to come up with a response.

“Or, it could be none of the above,” Natasha suggested in her sweetest voice, which also happened to be her scariest voice.

“Or none of the above,” Bucky agreed in a rush, raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry.” He shifted, so he was facing Steve again, and actually looked contrite. “Seriously, don’t listen to me, I’m drunk.”

“It’s loud in here,” Steve said defensively, proud of how calm he sounded as he tapped against the surface of the phone. “And it’s _Veterans Day_.”

Bucky’s mouth was doing the little wobble it did whenever he was emotional about something, and trying to keep it together. Seeing it made Steve feel like climbing across the table in order to get away before Bucky started talking again might be a good idea.

“Hey,” Bucky said, tilting his head, eyes too bright. “I love you. You know that, right? I want you to be happy, is all.”

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. While he’d been talking, Bucky had reached out across the table, Clint automatically reaching back, so that Bucky’s shiny fingers were now wrapped around Clint’s wrist, as if he was Bucky’s lifeline. Steve tried to imagine what it would be like if Tony was there with them. Would they be holding hands beneath the table, Tony trying to reassure him? Steve gripped his glass a little tighter, and struggled with the idea of reaching out to anyone for comfort. 

“It’s not a sex thing,” Steve said after the silence grew uncomfortable, feeling it was important to make that much clear, at least. “Tony’s my boyfriend.” 

It sounded so stupid, saying it outloud like that, and part of him wanted to take it back, as if they might all start laughing at him. Nobody did, of course. They were his friends, his _family_ , and Steve felt that familiar crawling guilt twist up inside of him again, like he was letting them all down by not knowing how to handle having a relationship.

Bucky was smiling, but there was nothing teasing about it. He was grinning like Christmas had come early. “Alright then, I’m shuttin’ up,” he swore, slinging his arm back around Steve’s shoulders. “Consider the subject officially dropped. Clint’s right, you don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

“Ooh, say ‘Clint’s right’ one more time,” Clint demanded, fumbling with his phone. “I need a new ringtone.”

An hour or so later, Steve got Clint and Bucky shoved into a cab, gave Natasha and Sam a hug before they shared one heading in the opposite direction, and slowly started the walk back to his empty apartment. It was only a few blocks, but he dragged them out, eventually remembering Tony’s voicemail, and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey, Steve. No need to call back, or anything. Just… it’s Veterans Day, and I wanted to say thank you for your service, and ah, yeah. I was thinking about you. And your friends, and family, too, so, um, maybe pass my thanks along to them? Okay. Hopefully you’re being honored somewhere. Talk to you soon. Bye.”

Steve stopped in his tracks, staring down at his phone, then played the voicemail again, remembering his uncharitable thoughts at the time Tony had been leaving the message. Felt ashamed of himself, disappointed. If he was being honest, it wasn’t the first time he’d made an unfavorable assumption about Tony based solely on the fact that he had never served.

So much of his life had been spent living and breathing the fucking Army that it was a struggle for Steve to relate to people who hadn’t served. Even before enlisting, he’d grown up begging each of his dads to tell him stories, had read history books, read about tactics. Not because he wanted to _fight_ anyone—Steve had never understood the glorification of violence—but because he wanted to protect the world.

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid, to think one man could take on something like that, butSteve had to believe that he was capable of making a difference, that _everyone_ was, that the sacrifices of the men and women who served was worth it. Steve had only ever been able to talk with fellow soldiers about that sort of stuff, usually when one of them had come to him for help, or because they were feeling homesick, or scared. Or dying. He’d given speeches, and pep talks, and rallied his troops, and had believed every single word. Had been willing to back them up with his own life if necessary.

Steve had no way of adequately explaining any of that to someone who hadn’t lived the life, but Tony wasn’t just _anyone_. Hell, out of everyone Steve knew, Tony was the living, breathing example of a single person’s ability to make a positive difference in the world. Steve wasn’t sure how he kept managing to forget how much Tony had done for veterans. That day alone he’d seen countless soldiers made whole again because of prosthetics that only existed because of Tony’s mind, his brother included. _Tony_ was the reason Bucky was able to reach across the table with his left hand to hold onto Clint for comfort.

There were tears in Steve’s eyes, and it made no sense whatsoever. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Steve brushed them aside, and hit the call back option before he could talk himself out of it.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to hear from you,” was how Tony answered, his tone light, and happy.

“Got your voicemail,” Steve managed, sounding more choked up than he liked. “Thanks for that, Tony. It, ah, it means _a lot_ , actually.”

“So does the sacrifice you made,” Tony countered, and Steve could hear how serious he was about the words. “You doing okay?”

He laughed, and it sounded shaky at best. “Sure.”

“Steve… You know you can talk to me, right? When, ah, or _if_ things are bothering you?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. “Yeah, Tony, I know.” 

People were always feeling the need to remind him they could listen, as if talking would change anything. Really, he should say goodnight, go home, drink a glass of water, and go to bed. But his building was dark as he crossed the street to head home, and Steve knew there was no way he was getting to sleep anytime soon. 

Thinking again of Bucky’s fingers wrapped around Clint’s wrist, Steve took a deep breath, and _reached_ for Tony, said, “I know it’s last minute and all, but, any chance you might want to come over?”

“Sure, yes, absolutely,” Tony answered without hesitation. Steve’s melancholy lifted a bit at the excitement he could hear in Tony’s voice, imagined him already grabbing car keys and running for the door. “I’ll be there soon. If it feels like I’m taking too long that’ll be because I had to bribe my way out of a speeding ticket.”

Steve smiled. “Drive safely, or you’ll have me to answer to. See you soon.”

Once he was upstairs, Steve drank two glasses of water, cursed himself for actually caving to Bucky’s offer of tequila in an attempt to smooth over their awkward moment, and then made sure none of Peter’s stuff would be underfoot when Tony showed up.

While he waited, he found himself thinking again and again of Bucky’s line of questioning, fluctuating somewhere between irritation, outrage, and crippling self-doubt. 

Relationships weren't easy for him the way they were for other people, and he hated feeling out of his depth. Steve was envious of the comfortable way Clint and Bucky had with each other, tried and failed to imagine having something similar with Tony. 

Anyway, that sort of stuff had always come naturally for his brother. Bucky had been the one bringing girls over for dinner, and the reason the phone was always ringing off the hook, while Steve lived in dread of having to fill a spot whenever his brother got it in his head to set up double dates. 

Back when they first met, Bucky and Clint had hated each other for about ten whole minutes, but then had apparently thought better of it and become inseparable instead. So, yes, rationally, Steve was aware a great deal of the intimacy they exhibited was due to sharing years of friendship under harsh conditions. Irrationally, though, Steve wished there was some way to just _know_ someone, have them know you, without having to give up pieces of yourself in the process.

The doorbell dragged him out of his thoughts, so Steve headed down to let Tony in, grateful for the distraction.

“That didn’t take very long.”

“My car’s too fast.” Tony grinned impishly. “The cops couldn’t catch up with me.”

“The scary thing is, I’m not sure you’re joking.” Steve headed upstairs, trusting Tony to close up behind him, and follow.

Once they were upstairs, Steve felt out of place in his own home, uncertain of why he’d even asked Tony over, until he turned around and found Tony aiming a sad little smile in his direction.

“Come here,” Tony said, softly, almost as if he was coaxing a spooked animal. 

Steve walked over to him, allowed himself to be pulled close, expecting Tony’s mouth against his own. Instead, Tony cupped his face, and stood on his tiptoes, and pressed a kiss against Steve’s forehead. Just like that, for no reason at all, Steve felt tension begin to ease out of him, as if he’d been deflated. He hadn’t even realized how on edge he was, but now he sighed, and wrapped his arms around Tony, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Tony didn’t complain when Steve squirmed his way closer, hiding his face against the curve of Tony’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. Already, his body was appreciating the proximity, tingling with interest. Steve really hadn’t had any ulterior motives when inviting Tony over, but now that he was there, it was impossible not to nuzzle his neck, place soft, wet kisses against his skin.

Steve dragged his lips along the column of Tony’s throat, up over his chin, and captured his mouth, finally kissing him properly. And that was just a beautiful distraction. The rest of the world fell away as he kissed Tony, again and again, feeling drunk on his mouth, cutting off his words whenever Tony tried to speak. This worked for a couple minutes, at least, but then Tony wriggled and pushed gently at his shoulders, so Steve stopped.

“Let’s just talk tonight,” Tony suggested, looking as if the words had hurt him on the way out. “Or, uh, if you’re not into talking, we could put on a shitty movie, or something, and sit together.”

A big, throbbing part of Steve hated that idea very much. Tony shuffled from foot to foot, shoulders hunching a bit, and when Steve closed his eyes, he remembered the look on Bucky’s face when he’d suggested Steve was only with Tony for sex, and felt selfish, and ashamed.

“Not a good night for talking,” Steve said. “But… instead, maybe you could tell me about your day, and I could listen?”

Tony looked up at this, smiling a shy, grateful smile, and nodded. “Sure.”

So they found themselves on the couch, Tony explaining the problems they were having with one of their projects, and after about an hour or so, it felt… _easier_ , somehow, having Tony there with him. Steve was sleepy, and sobering up, and somewhere along the way he’d stretched out across the couch so that his head was resting on a pillow in Tony’s lap.

“This is nice,” Steve admitted, once there was a lull in the conversation. He turned on his side, pressed his face against Tony’s stomach, and then hands stroked his hair.

“Good,” Tony answered softly.

“Thanks for coming over.”

“Anytime, Steve.” Tony leaned over, pressed a kiss against Steve’s temple. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, and said, “This is the longest relationship I’ve ever been in,” apropos of nothing.

“Really?” There was no judgement in Tony’s voice, just cautious curiosity. His fingers resumed their stroking, and Steve relaxed infinitesimally.

“As long as you don’t count the Army, then yeah.”

Tony snorted. “I definitely don’t count the Army.”

Shifting around so he could look up at Tony again, Steve struggled with his words. “Then I suppose you hold the current title.”

“Lucky me,” Tony said, and the oddest thing was, he sounded like he meant it.

Steve wished, for just a moment, that he was the sort of person who could just open his mouth, and have everything make sense when the words left his lips. Not sure what else to do with everything churning away in his chest, Steve reached for Tony again. This time, the kiss was slower, more tender, and Steve hoped that Tony could feel the difference.

“Could I maybe hold you for a bit?” Steve asked, not sure why the request felt so monumental, considering some of the things he and Tony had done together.

Tony’s eyes went wide again. “Yeah, of course.” 

Steve moved so they could do some rearranging. Eventually, Tony was stretched out alongside him—mostly draped on top of him, really—wrapped up in Steve’s arms, his hair tickling Steve’s nose. The weight of him there was a gift, and Steve let his eyes drift closed, lost himself to the steady rise and fall of Tony’s chest against his own, smiling contentedly when he realized their breathing had synced up.

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

Tony's grip on him tightened, then eased up, as if Tony realized what he was doing. "We never... Okay, shit. I'm just going to say this." Steve tensed up in anticipation as Tony spoke, adrenaline flooding in, triggered by fear of the unknown, leaving him feeling as if he’d been lulled into a false sense of security. "It was really nice hearing you use the word relationship when talking about us."

Steve waited, but there was nothing else forthcoming. The unnecessary adrenaline in his system only added to the unwelcome tension flooding through him. Immediately, he thought of Bucky’s line of questioning earlier in the evening, and had the sudden, uncomfortable suspicion that Tony and Bucky had been talking behind his back, had planned out some sort of confrontation. Which was _ridiculous_ , he knew it was, but Tony’s remark still left him feeling a bit like he was being ganged up on.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Tony went very still. "Hey, no, I'm not... That wasn't a _criticism_ , Steve, honest."

Somewhere in the back of his rational mind, Steve knew there was nothing to be upset about, but that didn't change the reality of his reaction. Where he'd been relaxed, he was now tense, the weight and warmth of Tony's body oppressive where once it was comforting. 

"It's late," Steve said, shifting to disentangle himself, feeling pinned down, trapped.

Tony scrambled to move, and Steve shrugged himself out from under the hand Tony placed on his shoulder once they were sitting up again, shifted so there was more space between them on the couch.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, irrationally irritated by Tony's careful tone of voice. 

"Obviously, I upset you," Tony said, all calm and reasonable sounding, "which definitely was not my intention, so—"

"You didn't upset me," Steve interrupted, falling back on his command voice without consciously realizing what he was doing. "It's been a long day."

Tony sat there for a moment, staring at the side of Steve's face. He could feel the weight of being watched, but refused to turn and acknowledge Tony. Mature? No, but Steve didn't particularly care. 

After a moment, Tony stood up. Through his peripheral vision, Steve saw Tony's hand sway his direction, then pull back again, curl into a fist at his side. He stayed that way for a moment, then sighed, and grabbed his jacket. 

"Right. I'll leave then, I guess."

Steve was a jangle of raw nerves, but Tony's voice sounded so dejected that he was able to push through the anger clouding his thoughts. 

"Wait."

Tony jerked to a halt, his back to Steve as he waited in the doorway. Steve knew he should apologize, or try to explain, but he _couldn't_. Everything was lodged uncomfortably somewhere behind his teeth, down deep in his chest, and keeping it inside was safer somehow—not for _him_ , but for the people around him, as if by bottling everything up Steve was protecting them.

Steve placed his hands on Tony's shoulders, and spun him around. Tony kept his eyes lowered, and Steve felt kicked in the teeth by guilt as he pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead.

"Send a text to let me know you got home safe," Steve said, swallowing back his apology.

"Okay," Tony answered flatly.

"No speeding," Steve added.

Tony nodded, repeated, "no speeding," and surged forward to press a quick kiss against Steve's lips before ducking his head, and walking out the door. "Goodnight," Steve heard over the sound of Tony's feet on the stairs.

Steve headed to the bedroom, feeling exhausted, and oddly numb. He changed into one of his old Army issue shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms, brushed his teeth, then walked into Peter's room. Steve grabbed one of Peter's pillows, turned on the nightlight, then stretched out on the floor beside his son's bed, face pressed into the pillow. Steve closed his eyes as he inhaled the clean, comforting scent of Peter, and reminded himself that he'd been drinking, which in turn meant driving to the Parker's to make sure everyone was okay was a bad idea.

Eventually, his phone vibrated, and Steve glanced at Tony's message.

_Home safe. Hope you don't regret inviting me over. Really didn't want to make a hard day harder for you._

Steve's chest ached as he replied. 

 _Only regret is letting you leave without apologizing. Should have skipped the tequila._  

It was stupid, but now that Tony was gone, and all Steve had of him was words on a screen, he wanted to ask him to come back, wished he’d asked him to stay the night. It made no sense.Steve wished they had kissed more, and talked less. The evening would have gone better.

_Oh the times tequila and I have had. Legally I’m not allowed to discuss. ;)_

Despite himself, Steve snorted, the laugh quickly becoming a yawn. Fuck, but he was exhausted. Even more so than usual. Steve sent off a quick goodbye, curled up with Peter’s pillow, and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, after yet another emotional onslaught, why not cheer yourself up by checking out MORE ART! nikistillbelievesinheroes over on tumblr drew an amazing [sketch of Tony's heart tattoo](http://finely-honed.tumblr.com/post/135154786337/nikistillbelieveinheroes-finely-honed-im)!! Bask in the glow. :D
> 
> So, hey. How are you all doing out there? Surviving the story, I hope? Yeah. In case it wasn't obvious, we're currently in a less than awesome stage of Tony and Steve's relationship. If this chapter didn't make it obvious, Steve is sort of in a tailspin at the moment. This man has no idea how to live his life for himself, how to cope with feelings—especially positive, romantic feelings—or even what it means to be in a relationship with a person. While his past, and his current state of Not Being Okay does not excuse his behavior, I'm hopeful that the additional context we'll be given in later chapters will at least allow you all to have a better understanding of WHY and HOW he could be behaving the way he is.
> 
> I'd like to say the next chapter is all sunshine and kittens, but we're about to reach Tony's limit, and he's going to reality check Steve. This will be a Very Good Thing for both of them. And, in the not too distant future, we'll see more of the Steve we know and love shining through, and maybe at that point some of you holding your hugs in reserve will feel better about handing them over.
> 
> Anyway, I have a lot of feelings about this universe, especially about our broken, fucked up Steve Rogers, and his path to having his life saved by Tony. And I know for some readers, seeing "this" Steve has been a painful challenge. I hope you'll hang in there, so we can all enjoy seeing him come back to life, and Tony finally getting the sort of relationship he deserves. There are still bumps ahead, but both of these men are on a path to healing, and happiness.
> 
> As always, feel free to scream in the comments, or come find me on tumblr. I could basically talk about this story all day every day, so... ;D


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's been pretty understanding about Steve's **Not Okay** behavior, even when he shouldn't be, but everyone has their breaking point. Sooner or later, your legs give way, and you hit the ground. Welcome to Tony's moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you'd like to play along, the song Tony is listening to is [this classic from The English Beat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAQ5JatwGrE).
> 
> Also, I'm sorry/not sorry in advance. Sometimes, you need to bottom out before you can build something new, and sturdy from the ground up.

Tony spun his chair in a slow circle, head tipped back, eyes focused on nothing in particular. While he could feel the rubber of his sneakers stutter against the floor, the squeaking sound was drowned out by the music blaring through the workshop’s speakers. If someone had asked how long he’d been at it, Tony wouldn’t be in any position to answer. The song was looping. Not intentionally, but once he realized what was happening Tony couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it; since his thoughts were also looping, it seemed appropriate.

With a sigh, Tony lifted his right hand, which was still curled around a mostly empty bottle of scotch. As long as you considered the bottle a single serving, he was still technically abiding by his Only One When Drinking Alone policy. This, along with some other lame justifications—the bottle hadn’t been full when he started, which should count for something—had resulted in him being full on drunk for the first time in years.

Sniffling, Tony squinted at the bottle then set it down, used the toe of one sneaker to send it rolling across the floot. Whatever was left sloshed out, leaving a trail of scotch through the workshop. For some reason, that seemed particularly amusing, and so he tittered as he resumed the slow spinning of his chair, head tipped back once again.

The next time he made a full rotation, Tony realized the thumping sound he'd been hearing wasn't the music. There was a moment of panic as he attempted to process the two shapes approaching him, sliding out of his chair in his shock. Tony got his feet beneath him, but lurched to the left, Natasha's quick reflexes and surprising strength the only thing that kept him from falling on his face. It was less the booze to blame and more the fact that he'd been spinning for however long he’d been at it, something he attempted to explain.

"That’s the chair’s fault, okay! I'm drunk, but not _that_ drunk."

"How long have you been in here?" Bruce asked, ignoring Tony's stammering, which was probably for the best. He'd also turned off the music, and for a moment the weight of the silence pressed in, leaving Tony feeling claustrophobic.

"Sorry," he blurted out of habit—all he seemed to do lately was apologize—as Natasha helped him stand back up. "Thanks. So, uh, what's up?"

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, then shared a look with Bruce. Tony's mouth opened, his stomach feeling like it was down in his boots somewhere, and words poured out, unbidden. "Steve sent you to break up with me on his behalf, didn't he?"

It sounded ridiculous once he'd said it, and Tony very much wished he could take it back, but a tiny part of him couldn't shake the idea once it'd manifested in his brain.

"Why would he do that?" Natasha asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Tony bit down on his lower lip in the hope it'd keep his mouth shut, and also because he was mortified enough to be close to tears. He shrugged a shoulder, looked at his shoes, and didn't answer.

"Come on," Bruce suggested, taking him by the elbow. "Let's go to the penthouse, have some coffee."

"S'okay, you don’t have to," Tony mumbled, although he let Bruce lead him to the door.

"I tried calling earlier.”

“Turned my phone off,” Tony admitted, patting at his pockets and coming up empty. He had no idea where the phone had wound up. After talking with Steve, turning it off had seemed the best course of action. "You probably have better things to do. I'll be fine."

“Seeing you was the extent of our plans for the evening," Bruce said.

"Oh." Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Why?"

As the elevator doors slid closed, Natasha surprised him by sliding her fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck, a comforting gesture that left Tony sighing in appreciation.

"Because we like you," she said.

That probably shouldn't have made him start crying. It did, though. "Fuck. Sorry. It's... Drinking. This is why I stopped drinking..."

Tony took a deep breath, sucking it up, stuffing it all back inside, scrubbing away the tears on his face. He could almost hear Howard rolling in his grave, desperate to share some derisive commentary regarding Tony's inability to handle his liquor, his love life, or anything else for that matter. By the time the elevator _dinged_ and the doors opened again, Tony felt like he’d regained enough control to avoid any further embarrassment.

“Did you and Steve have a fight about something?”

Bruce’s tone was deceptively light. The guy was a tea drinking, yoga loving, sprout eating pacifist, but Tony had seen Bruce lose his temper, and knew his friend’s tells. It didn’t happen often, but when it did? Cataclysmic. While it was heartening to see Bruce getting preemptively pissed off on his behalf, there was the great potentiality of awkwardness to worry about. Tony doubted Natasha wanted to find herself sucked into the middle of his bullshit, especially where Steve was concerned.

“No.”

They hadn’t _fought_ ; he’d just hit his head against the walking wall of stubborn that passed itself off as a man named Steve Rogers. Again. And, like always, he’d immediately surrendered. Apologized, shut his mouth, and pretended everything was fine. Convinced himself that he was being a spoiled brat, and needed to get over himself already.

“Really?” Natasha’s voice was so laced with sarcasm that Tony could practically _taste_ her incredulity.

“Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Tony swore, fumbling for a smile, trying it on for size. Natasha stared at him until it slid back off of his face. “Things are good.”

“Hm,” was all she actually said, but what Tony heard was, “Yeah, sorry, not buying it.” Just to make this clear she added, “Which explains why you thought Steve had sent us to dump you.”

“Fair enough,” he grumbled, flopping down onto the couch, “but I like you, so I’ll spare you the horror of attending the poor little rich boy’s pity party.”

Something in the silence that followed was agonizing, and Tony’s eyes were immediately drawn to the bar, to the false promise of the shiny, expensive bottles lined up like his own personal firing squad. It felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, his throat suddenly raw, and dry. The ache in his chest, the pounding in his head, and the slight fuzzy tilt to his surroundings made it clear he’d had too much to drink as it was, but a voice in the back of his head was rationalizing it all away. He’d already fucked up, so he might as well keep on going, right? When he woke up to the mother of all hangovers, he’d remember why he didn’t do this anymore, but for now…

Tony shifted, fully intending to wet his whistle, but he must have been weighing the pros and cons for longer than he’d realized, because Bruce walked into his line of sight and handed him a steaming mug of coffee. Tony jerked in surprise, just managed to get a hold on it, sloshing the tiniest bit out and onto his hand. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

“Hey, coffee, thanks,” he said, resting the mug on his knee, fingers curled around the handle. “So, what’re we doing? Movie? Trip to Vegas?”

“Ice cream,” Natasha answered, somehow managing to plop down onto the couch beside him without jostling his precariously balanced beverage. She took Tony’s too-hot mug, set it down on the coffee table, and replaced it with a carton of ice cream.

“They have ice cream in Vegas,” Tony pointed out, although he snatched up the spoon she offered, mostly out of fear of where she might stick it if he left her hanging. With a defeated sigh, Tony filled his mouth with cool, creamy sweetness, even as he longed for the burn of hard liquor. “Did you bring this with you?”

“Found it in your freezer,” Bruce said, helping himself to a spoonful. “You have a lot of ice cream in there, actually.”

“Right,” Tony murmured, jabbing his spoon in and out of the ice cream, frowning to himself. “I had a standing order. This is Pepper’s favorite,” he explained. “She hasn’t exactly been around to eat it. Guess there’s a backlog.”

“Any idea when she’s coming back?” Bruce asked.

Tony shrugged, shoveled more ice cream into his mouth. “Answer hazy.”

Beside him, Natasha shifted. “You visited for Thanksgiving, right?”

“Yup. She’s doing great. Loves it out there.” Tony turned his spoon this way and that, catching the light, attempting to distract himself by thinking through the mechanics of the motion, of the nature of light itself, adding, “Tried to talk me into relocating.”

“Ah,” Natasha said, practically purring the word. “And did you, by any chance, happen to mention this to Steve?”

Tony turned to stare at her, feeling like he imagined a rat in a trap must feel. “I’m not sure this is a conversation we should be having.”

Natasha blinked, studying him, then brushed his hair back from his forehead, the gesture so like Pepper’s affectionate touch that Tony wanted to cry again. “I’m exceptionally good at keeping confidences,” she said, taking the ice cream off his hands. “Talk as much as you’re comfortable with. I’ll listen. Maybe I’ll comment, maybe not. But this,” she twirled her spoon as if circling Tony’s face in the air, “isn’t healthy.”

When Tony glanced over, Bruce nodded his agreement. “Right, sure. Uh, yeah. I’d mentioned Pepper’s suggestion, and Steve seemed to think me leaving was a great idea, which was…” Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I wasn’t rearly considering it, you know? I even said as much. Didn’t expect him to try to talk me into moving.”

Nobody said anything, so Tony cleared his throat, and snatched up his coffee, taking a sip. “I get that. Reverse our roles and I might do the same thing to not let on how much it’d hurt. I’d be screaming on the inside and would plot out ways to make it work wherever he was going, but… If Steve really wanted to go somewhere, I’d want to be, I don’t know. Supportive.”

Steve hadn’t sounded supportive, but he also hadn’t sounded mad. Indifference would have been closer to the mark, as if Tony switching coasts would have no impact on his life one way or another, which… yeah, was probably true. It would mean Steve had more free time at his disposal, and would have to find someone else to suck his dick, but otherwise Steve could get back to basics.

And that right there? _That_ was what had sent Tony spinning. Since they’d met, he’d done nothing but fall a little deeper each and every time he’d looked into Steve’s eyes, but Tony was getting to the point where he had to step back, take a hard look at his relationship, and admit that the same wasn’t true for Steve.

Tony wasn’t a child, he didn’t expect Steve to be head over heels in love with him, or anything. Lately, though, it felt like the only time Steve wanted him around was when they were having sex. That first time together, when Steve had broken out the sketchbook, and started drawing him? Tony still thought of that night, the thrill of Steve’s hands on him, of getting drunk on kisses, and spending the rest of the evening smiling stupidly at each other. It had felt like the _beginning_ of something.

At least three months had gone by since that night, and now Tony was starting to feel like the sex equivalent of a drive-thru window, whatever that was. All Tony knew was that it would be nice to have sex in a bed, or for Steve to actually get fully undressed at least _once_ , slow down a bit, maybe, take their time and have fun exploring together. Not using sex as a way to get out of conversations, or in the place of an apology would be nice, too.

In isolation, the sex situation wasn't alarming, but in conjunction with Steve’s other behavior it left Tony feeling at odds. Steve had admitted this was the longest relationship he’d been in, which was a comfort in a lot of ways, because then Tony could chalk some of it up to inexperience, but _still_. He was running out of ways to explain away the inconsistencies.

Sometimes, Steve acted like he resented having Tony around. Getting to know Steve Rogers had always been a little like pulling teeth, but since they’d started having sex it was somehow worse. Tony was willing to bet Bruce had a better understanding of the day to day of Steve’s life than Tony did, just from knowing Natasha. Tony asked—he _always_ asked, to the point of feeling like a broken record—but Steve wasn’t the most forthcoming of individuals.

The tight lipped routine was bad enough, but then there was the stony silences to contend with. They'd be having a conversation, and Tony would ask a perfectly innocent question, and suddenly Steve would stop talking, or only give one word answers, and then get pissed when Tony tried to fix whatever he'd inadvertently broken.

Whenever Tony hinted at the idea of them doing something involving other people, he got shot down. Assuming it was a waste of time, he’d tried again, hoping that Steve might join him and Natasha in celebrating Bruce’s birthday. Steve had refused, his tone of voice and choice of words making it clear he wasn’t going to budge on the decision. Tony’s curiosity got the best of him and so he’d  asked why. There was always the chance it was for practical reasons, like Steve being unable to get a babysitter.

“It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Steve had said, followed by, “look, I’m kind of busy over here. I’ll catch up with you later,” before hanging up. Tony had been left saying goodbye to himself, thinking about the conversation before that, and the one before _that_ , and all the times and ways in which Steve had left him feeling twisted up inside.

When he took a few steps back and tried to look at things impartially, Tony was left with the heartbreaking certainty that he'd been relegated to the status of fuck buddy. Except, it seemed as if whenever he began to lose hope, the _other_ Steve resurfaced again, the incredibly sweet, dedicated man that Tony was batshit crazy about. The guy with the sense of humor that always left Tony wanting to kiss him. The indulgent smiles, and almost possessively affectionate embraces that would send Tony’s heart swooping dangerously in his chest. He was the Steve who noticed when Tony was feeling a bit down in the dumps, and snuck drawings into his pockets so he’d find them later, and laugh, and smile, and feel like he fucking _mattered_ to somebody.

So, knowing what Steve was capable of, Tony had to assume what happened the rest of the time was his own fault. He was the one with the shitty relationship track record, and next to no friends, and an inability to connect with most of the human race. Tony knew he was a self-absorbed brat, so it must be that the high maintenance factor was finally wearing thin on Steve.

“Tony?”

Bruce was watching him expectantly, and Tony remembered he was supposed to be talking. “Sorry. Uh, what was I saying?”

“Pepper, relocation, Steve’s supposed enthusiasm for the idea,” Bruce rattled off, an edge to his voice. “Which, for the record, I’m not in favor of. I’d miss you terribly.”

Tony’s breath caught, and he had to fight back fresh tears. “I’d miss you, too. Besides, I don’t want to leave,” he admitted. He’d said that to Steve, too.

“Shouldn’t you consider it, at least?” Steve had asked, sounding a lot like Tony’s dead father when he’d added, “or is it easier letting Pepper handle everything for you?”

Not wanting to leave Natasha and Bruce sitting there with nothing to do but stare at him, Tony shoved aside the uncomfortable memory, and slumped down into the couch cushions, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Anyway. Steve seems to feel differently. Guess the novelty of having me as a boyfriend wore off.” Tony took another sip of coffee. “If he’d at least tell me what I was doing wrong I could try to do better, but...”

Bruce tugged off his glasses, polishing them perhaps a bit too aggressively, while Natasha’s fingers wriggled against Tony’s hair, stroking him like a cat. “Maybe you're not doing _anything_ wrong.”

Tony snorted, looked over expecting to find her smiling, ready to share the joke, but oddly enough Natasha appeared to be entirely serious. “I have to be,” Tony explained, clearing his throat.

“Why?” Natasha tugged gently on his hair. “Steve isn’t perfect.”

“Right, but he’s,” Tony gestured helplessly, almost dumping coffee onto himself, “ _Steve_ ,” was the only explanation he could come up with. “And I’m… _me_.”

“I have a recommendation,” Natasha said after taking the coffee away from Tony. “Sit Steve down, and tell him what _you_ need if the relationship is going to continue. Be painfully clear, but also understand it might take him time. If you’re willing to be patient while Steve works on it, then tell him as much. Downside? You need to be ready to walk away if he has no interest in the type of relationship you’re looking for.”

Tony felt a little like Natasha had swept his legs out from under him.

“A relationship involves _two_ people, Tony.”

“What she said,” Bruce seconded when Tony gawped, and looked to him for backup. “I’m willing to bet your demands aren’t unreasonable.”

Tony felt sick to his stomach at the idea, and tried to come up with some good reasons not to take Natasha’s advice, but she’d already put him in charge of the ice cream again, and turned on the TV.

“If it helps, pretend this is a merger,” she suggested, smiling as she licked her spoon clean. “Steve should be in the shop by nine, and his first appointment of the day isn’t until noon tomorrow. You can use the back office to talk. For now, we keep you company while you sober up.”

“Hopefully sleep will be involved, too,” Bruce added. He made shooing motions with his hands, and Tony found himself dragged to the middle of the couch by Natasha, then sandwiched between the two of them.

The tears threatened to make a reappearance, more from gratitude and surprise this time around, at least. Tony considered running away, but after a couple of tense moments, he let go, and relaxed into the embrace.

When he woke up, Bruce and Natasha were gone, but one of them had found his phone, turned it back on, and placed it within reach. It was vibrating across the coffee table, blasting Black Sabbath’s _Paranoid_ , so Tony made a blind grab, answering with his eyes squeezed shut in denial.

“Wake up call. Coffee machine should be dispensing right about now. Take a mug into the shower with you, have another after, then head to the shop.”

“Is that you, Satan?” Tony cracked one eye open, the daylight sharp like a knife in his head. “Pretty sure m’a corpse,” he mumbled, trying and failing to sit up. “Oh, no, very much alive and in pain.”

“Do or die time, Stark. Go get your man, or be doomed to a lifetime of tears.”

Tony struggled for a moment, then the night before came flooding back, and suddenly he was almost terrifyingly alert. The room lurched and swam around him for a moment as he sat upright, feeling as if his heart was in his throat.

“You’re crazy if you think this will work out,” Tony swore, “he probably won’t even let me in the building. Nat? Hello?” But Natasha had already hung up, so Tony was talking to himself.

Holding his phone as if it could help him somehow, Tony sat paralyzed until the coffee maker chimed to notify him of having successfully completed its mission. Swallowing around his fear and all the sick sensations that had nothing to do with his hangover, Tony stood up, headed for the kitchen, and poured himself a mug.

The shower helped. Tony didn’t bother neatening up his beard, dealing with his hair, putting in his contacts, looking at his missed calls, text messages, emails, or anything else. Naked and leaving damp footprints in his wake, Tony headed back to the kitchen for his coffee refill, which he then polished off while pulling on whatever clothes he could find.

Once he was dressed, Tony shoved his glasses onto his face, grabbed his phone and keys, and headed to Brooklyn without letting himself think. If he started thinking, he would talk himself out of following Natasha’s advice, and while he was terrified by what might come of it, he was equally terrified of how Natasha might react upon learning he’d chickened out. Tony was pretty sure Natasha would interpret his cowardice as proof of his unworthiness where Steve was concerned, and she seemed like someone you wanted on your side.

The real panic didn’t set in until Tony pulled up in front of the shop and tried to get out of the car. A wave of sickness washed over him, so strong that he had to sit back down in the driver’s seat for a moment, counting down from ten in his head, feeling incredibly pathetic. At the moment, running into a burning building sounded like a better option than what he was about to do.

But Tony found something inside of himself—some small, battered part of his heart that believed it deserved to be treated with care—and pushed up and out of the car, slamming the door shut. His legs felt like rubber as he walked up to the shop, his hand visibly shaking when he knocked on the door.

It took about five minutes or so of steady knocking, but eventually the door was yanked open, and Steve was standing there, glaring, mouth open since he was probably expecting to have to send someone packing. Tony lowered his eyes quickly as the confusion spread across Steve’s face, feeling scared shitless.

“Tony?”

“Hi. I need to talk to you.”

Not bothering to wait, Tony slid past Steve, ducking under the arm he had propped along the doorframe. Once he was inside the shop, he found himself with his hands laced behind his head, the panic pounding through his body in time with the beating of his artificial heart. From behind him came the sound of Steve shutting the door, the bell chiming, and then there were large, warm hands on his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, sounding so concerned that Tony almost started crying in relief. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what time everyone else is going to show up,” Tony rambled, his breathing hectic as the words spilled out, “so maybe we want to go back in the office for this?”

Some part of Tony had expected Steve to be angry over the unscheduled visit, get all territorial, or maybe lecture Tony about what it meant to have responsibilities, but what he did instead was take Tony’s hand, and squeeze, and lead him back to the office without saying anything. Once they were there, Steve didn’t let go, he guided Tony over to the couch, and then they were sitting together, one of Steve’s hands on his shoulder, as if to offer support.

“Tony?” Steve said after a couple minutes of them sitting there with only Tony’s ragged breathing to listen to. “Was somebody hurt?”

The question caught him off guard, prompted Tony to turn, and actually look Steve in the eyes. He seemed stranded somewhere between wanting to comfort Tony and needing to run out and pummel somebody. Instantly, Tony thought of Rhodey, and Afghanistan, and wondered if Steve had jumped to some very wrong conclusions.

“No, everyone’s okay,” Tony swore, and relief flashed in Steve’s eyes. “Well, _I’m_ not,” Tony admitted, gesturing weakly to himself, “but that’s kind of standard operating procedure, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, his fingers tightening around Tony’s shoulder. His eyes went wide and he almost pulled Tony into his arms, saying, “Wait, it isn’t your heart again, is it?”

To his surprise, Tony burst out laughing, because Steve’s guess was accurate, even though technically he was nowhere near close to the mark. “Sorry, I’m not sick or anything. _Shit_. It was a long, awful night, and I feel like garbage, but if I don’t talk to you about this now, I never will, and this is probably why all of my relationships have ended badly.”

Steve continued to stare as the words came pouring out of Tony’s mouth, expression shuttered, as if bracing for impact. Tony could sympathize. If Steve had shown up in a similar state and mentioned relationships ending badly Tony would have assumed he was being dumped. Hell, his friends had shown up to visit him and he’d thought he was being dumped, which, really, was a pretty good indicator of how insecure he felt in their relationship.

“Do I make you happy?” Tony asked, and that wasn’t how he’d wanted to open discussions, but apparently his mouth was working from a different script entirely. “Even a little?”

Brows drawing together, Steve straightened up, hand sliding away from Tony’s shoulder, down along his arm, until he was holding one of Tony’s hands again. He sounded flat when he asked, “What?”

Tony pressed his lips together, trying to fight the wobble, feeling like he might start sobbing unattractively at any moment. “Sorry. Fuck,” he muttered, scrubbing his free hand across his face. “I’m making a mess of this already.”

“All the time,” Steve said softly, and Tony was so caught up in trying to puzzle through rebooting the conversation that he almost missed hearing the response. But, quiet as they were, the words were firm, and certain, and Steve squeezed his hand before adding, “Sometimes just thinking about you is enough to make me feel better.”

Relief crashed through him, sudden and violent, and Tony exhaled in a rush, wanting to crawl into Steve’s lap, stop the conversation right there. It wasn’t enough though, and he knew it. “Better, or happy? There’s a big difference, Steve.”

“Where’s this coming from?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing.

“From _me_ ,” Tony snapped, taking his hand back so he could run them both through his hair. His head was still pounding, and the car ride over hadn’t done anything for his nausea, either. Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony slumped down into the couch. “Sorry, the hangover is making a comeback. I can’t believe I used to drink like this all the time.”

“Do you need water?” Steve asked after a minute or so of silence passed uncomfortably between them.

“What I need is to start being honest about my expectations for our relationship,” Tony said, proud of how calm he sounded. He opened his eyes, turned his head enough to be able to see Steve’s face. “That’s assuming you also consider us to be in one.”

Steve apleaded to be offended. “How can you ask me that?”

Tony sat up a bit. “How can you be _surprised_ by my asking? Steve, the last time I even used the word relationship in a sentence, you literally _pushed me away_ , and made me leave. I drove around the block and had to pull over to get myself calmed down enough to even be able to drive home, by the way.” Steve’s mouth opened, but Tony barreled on. “And I get that it was Veterans Day, and you’d been drinking, but you do shit like that to me _all the time_.”

“I consider us to be in a relationship,” Steve answered carefully. His face had gone almost blank, his eyes hard and flinty, right up until the mask slipped. Steve looked _lost_ in that moment. It was there and gone again, fast enough that you’d miss it if you weren’t desperately searching his eyes for reasons to hope the way Tony was.

“Good,” Tony said, “me too. Meeting you was maybe the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Steve.”

Tony paused to get his voice back under control, breathing in and out shakily. Steve reached for his hand again, and Tony stared down at the bits of ink peeking out from beneath the sleeve of Steve’s thermal, little wisps of smoke that curled down and around his wrist.

“Part of the problem might be that we never really took the time to talk about where this is going,” Tony said, “or where we want it to go.”

Steve took what seemed to be a fortifying breath, his fingers twitching around Tony’s own. “I might be out of practice when it comes to talking things through,” he said after a moment. “Always been more comfortable with action.”

“Makes sense.” Tony tightened his grip on Steve’s hand, brushing his thumb across Steve’s knuckles, feeling brave for no reason at all. “Want me to start?”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Tony took a deep breath and tried to get his thoughts in order. “I’ve got this, uh, habit of running numbers in my head—occupational hazard, I guess, but for me, numbers are comforting.” Tony glanced up at the clock on the wall, then laughed to himself. “The first time we met was 281,665 minutes ago, by the way.”

Steve made a soft noise of surprise, and Tony ducked his head, swallowing. “Sounds nice and long, but if we’re being practical in our rounding, that’s really only 53.59% of this year. Or, uh, six months and eleven days, if you’re into calendars.”

“You can just look at the clock and figure out how many minutes we’ve known each other?” Steve asked, and Tony was taken aback by the warmth in Steve’s voice. Carefully, he tugged his hand free of Tony’s and then there were fingers stroking along his jaw, gently tilting his chin, turning his face, so Tony would look Steve’s way. “That’s incredible, Tony.”

“I mostly do it to remind myself that, in the grand scheme of things, we haven’t actually known each other very long,” Tony said, only able to look Steve in the eyes in tiny, flickering bursts. “Which makes it less romantic, I guess. The point is, no matter what the numbers say, it _feels_ longer to me. Some might argue that it’s too soon for me to be so emotionally invested.”

“You think I’m not invested?” Steve asked, the slightest edge of irritation in his voice.

Tony shrugged, and managed to look Steve in the eyes without looking away. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe you are. Maybe you’ve never stopped to think about it. That’s why we’re talking, so I don’t have to _guess_ , because when it comes to this sort of stuff, my assumption will always be that I’m the one fucking things up.”

“Tony,” Steve admonished, but Tony ignored him, voice waivering as he pressed on.

“I feel like once we started having sex, you stopped wanting to get to know me,” Tony blurted, swallowing around the lump in his throat, “which is understandable. Wouldn’t be the first time my personality got in the way of a good thing. At least I know you’re not after a payday, but that’s not… if sex is all this is to you, then I have to say goodbye, Steve, because—”

“Tony, _stop_ ,” Steve interrupted, that command voice of his cutting through everything. Tony heard his own mouth snap shut, but then Steve was reaching for him, and there were large, warm hands cupping the sides of his face, holding him steady so that Tony couldn’t look away. “That’s not all I want,” Steve swore, a fierce sort of honesty in his eyes. “I promise it isn’t. I didn’t know I was making you feel that way.”

Tony exhaled shakily, another wave of relief washing over him. “Okay,” he murmured, “good.”

Steve’s thumbs brushed over his cheeks, his brows drawn together as he stared into Tony’s eyes, and Tony wanted to stop complaining, just shut up and try to smooth over the uncomfortableness, but if he lost momentum now, too much would remain unsaid, and he didn’t trust himself to do this again.

“Tony, I’ve never… This is hard for me,” Steve admitted, looking as if making the confession hurt. “You said there were things that you needed. Tell me what to do.”

There was an earnestness to the request that caught Tony by surprise, soothed some of the riotous emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“ _Talk_ to me,” Tony answered without hesitation, “even if it’s only to tell me you’re having a shitty day, and don’t want to talk right that minute.”

Steve looked surprised. “I talk.”

“Sometimes, sure,” Tony admitted, “but mostly you _don’t_ , Steve, not anymore. Not about anything personal. I ask questions, try to draw you out, and sometimes it works, but mostly I get superficiality. The rest of the time I’m left stumbling around in the dark, which leads to upsetting you, and then you stop talking to me altogether.” Steve’s hands slid away, coming to rest in his lap as he stared back at Tony, wide eyed. “I feel like all I ever do anymore is apologize to you, only I have no idea what I’ve even done wrong, which sucks.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Steve said, the words a soft rumble. The furrow was still between his brows, eyes lowered, and nostrils flaring.

Tony sat up straighter, a little bolt of anger shooting through him. “People who know more about these things than me have hammered home the idea that apologizing is what people do when they hurt someone they care about,” Tony snapped. “Which, by the way, you’ve only done _once_.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I get it’s shitty to keep score, but I have a painfully good memory, and the only time you’ve actually apologized for doing something that’s upset me was back when you brought Sam on our first date.”

Steve squared his shoulders, his eyes narrowing. “That’s bullshit, Tony.”

“It really isn’t. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve talked _about_ apologizing, but that’s not the same thing as actually saying you’re sorry, Steve.”

“Give me one example,” he demanded, arms folded across his chest.

Tony took a moment to wonder what the hell was wrong with him that, even in the midst of what was quickly turning into a full on fight, he couldn’t help but find Steve’s stubbornness just the tiniest bit endearing. “Fine. It came up earlier, so how about on Veterans Day? I opened myself up to you and you physically shoved me aside like I was contaminated. That _hurt_ , Steve.”

Steve had the decency to look ashamed, but he still wasn’t ready to back down. “I definitely apologized for that,” he insisted, reaching for his phone.

Tony assumed he was planning on finding the supposed apology in their text message history, and grabbed Steve’s wrist. “Let me save you the trouble. You said, and I quote, ‘ _Only regret is letting you leave without apologizing. Should have skipped the tequila.’_ Which is my point, Steve. Referencing the act of apologizing isn’t the same as doing it.” Steve was still holding his phone, although he was staring at Tony in surprise now, either from Tony’s impressive recall, or hearing how his words had been interpreted. “Added bonus, the bit about tequila falls sort of flat, as far as excuses go. More importantly, it does me no good when it comes to figuring out what the hell I did wrong that night.”

“Tony—” Steve said, but now that Tony had started, the idea of stopping was impossible.

“You wanted to have sex that night, remember? And I wanted us to talk, because you seemed really upset on the phone, and I _care_ _about you_ , Steve.” Tony ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Then I used the word relationship and you kicked me out. Guess what? That’s the sort of shit that makes me feel like I’m your fuck buddy instead of your boyfriend.”

He hadn’t really meant to shout that last part, and felt almost as if the words were rattling around the room still. Tony sucked air in through his teeth, trying to fight back the sob that desperately wanted to escape. Steve looked a little like someone had punched him in the solar plexus and Tony hated himself for wanting to stop in order to comfort Steve.

“Is it my turn yet?” Steve asked, his voice tight, and clipped. Tony nodded, his spirits sinking. “I had bad asthma growing up,” Steve said, and Tony found himself looking up in confusion, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything. “I was sick and skinny, the kind of kid who always got picked last, or picked on. I used to drive Bucky crazy. He was always pulling me out of scraps in the schoolyard, or fights in alleyways, because it never mattered to me that I might lose, or get hurt; if I saw someone getting bullied, I stood up, and tried to stop it.”

As Tony watched, Steve lost control of his expression again, then didn’t bother to try to rein it back in. That was _grief_ on his face, and Tony couldn’t help himself, he reached out automatically, and was surprised when Steve snatched his hand, wound their fingers together, and held on as if Tony might be about to run away.

“When I was around fifteen, we got a new teacher,” Steve said, his mouth twisting. “Mr. Erskine,” he said, smiling around the name, before ducking his head again. “Saw me covered with all these bruises, and got worried something was wrong at home. Once I told him what was going on, he asked if I’d ever worked out with weights.” Steve sighed, scrubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, seemingly lost to the memory. “I hadn’t. He told me I was going to start. He came over to the house, talked to my dads, and before I knew it, there was a bench and a whole set of weights down in the basement. Mr. Erskine taught me some basic exercises, and off I went. I loved it, Tony, even when I couldn’t lift the empty bar. There was nothing easy about it. It took honest work, and time, and nobody else could do it for me. Every time I was able to add more weight, or do another rep, I felt this sense of accomplishment.”

“For a solid year, any free time I had was spent either drawing, or down in the basement.” Steve looked up, tears in his eyes. “Crazy as it sounds, I was so focused on the process, I didn’t even notice the physical change in myself. Bucky was hitting a growth spurt, too, and we were both eating non-stop like most teenagers. I guess I realized I’d gotten taller, and hadn't had an asthma attack in ages, but none of it clicked until the first time I went to take a punch meant for someone else. It didn’t even phase me. I suddenly realized I was the biggest, strongest person in that alleyway. If I wanted to, I could let loose on this jerk, hurt him so bad he never picked on someone again, and he wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

“You didn’t, though,” Tony said, unable to help himself. The corner of Steve’s mouth ticked up in the ghost of a smile. “I know you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t,” Steve admitted, shaking his head. “I told him to scram, and made sure the other guy got home okay, and then went to see to Mr. Erskine. He could tell I was a little turned around.” Steve shifted his grip on Tony’s hand, smiling softly to himself while staring at their fingers. “He told me the strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion.”

“Sounds like a smart guy.”

Steve nodded, one of his hands flying up to his brow for a moment, as if to hide the cracks in his armor, as he struggled with whatever he wanted to say next. “He died later that year,” Steve said, his shoulders heaving, “and I promised myself I’d never forget what he taught me. Strength reveals itself in _character_.” Steve’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, but he wasn’t looking away anymore, was facing Tony head on. “The Steve Rogers you’re describing sounds a lot like one of the bullies I used to stand up to back in the day.”

Tony’s mouth fell open. Hell, the entire room felt like it’d dropped out from beneath his feet. “Steve, _no_ , you’re not a _bully_ , you’re just—”

“Please stop making excuses for me.” Steve shook his head, and Tony stopped arguing, held his breath, at a complete loss for words. As he sat there, scared to do or say the wrong thing, Steve let go of his hand, and shifted even closer, so that their knees were pressed together. He cupped Tony’s cheeks again, brought their faces closer together, but the goodbye kiss Tony expected wasn’t given. Instead, Steve looked him dead in the eyes, and said, “Tony, I’m _so sorry_. I never meant to hurt you.”

Almost as soon as the words left Steve’s mouth, Tony lost his battle against the tears, then immediately tried to stop crying. Steve made soothing noises, removed Tony’s glasses for him, and then he was wrapped up safe in Steve’s arms, pulled into an embrace. For a minute or two, Tony wasn’t able to do much more than hide his face, and shake against Steve’s chest. Large, warm hands stroked up and down his back, a soothing, steady caress. Tony swallowed down the last of his tears, sniffling, but unwilling to move.

“We’re not breaking up, are we?” he asked against Steve’s chest.

With the way Steve was holding him, Tony could hear the soft, wounded intake of breath this question elicited. “Not unless you want to,” Steve said, his voice surprisingly steady. “Considering how I’ve been behaving, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I want to be with you,” he answered without hesitation. Steve’s arms tightened around him at the words, and he pressed a kiss to the top of Tony’s head, while Tony worked a hand up between them to wipe at his eyes, feeling as if someone had put him through an emotional meat grinder. “No, that’s wrong. I want us to be in this together, Steve.”

Carefully, Tony extracted himself from the embrace. Still sniffling, he grabbed his glasses, popped them back on his face, and took a deep breath. “I have a favor to ask. Take a couple days, and really think it through. I’m not… I don’t want you agreeing to something you’re not ready for, or don’t want, just because I showed up on your doorstep having an emotional breakdown.”

Steve looked completely taken aback, which was fair. Tony felt the same way. That morning, he would have jumped at the chance to just get an apology and move on, figure things out as they went, but he couldn’t shake the mental image of a skinny little Steve Rogers, swinging above his weight class in an attempt to protect others. That sounded like the guy he’d fallen in love with, and Tony wasn’t interested in settling for anything less than a chance at the real Steve.

“I don’t want months to pass and for us to wind up in the exact same place, except on opposite sides of the equation. This needs to be about both of us for it to work, and so, uh, I guess it’d be really good for you to have time to think about whether you even want something like that. Especially since you have Peter to consider.”

Steve licked his lips, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay,” he said after a moment, standing up, and extending his hand. “How about we take a week to think things through?”

Tony blinked a few times, but then scrambled to his feet, and took Steve’s hand, shook it while feeling oddly proud of himself. “Okay, yeah. One week.”

They ended the handshake, and Tony felt a little like he might fall over, everything catching up with him all at once. Steve was watching him, almost scowling with intensity.

“Can I kiss you before you go?” Steve asked, the gentleness in his voice at odds with the intense expression.

Tony could only nod his agreement. There was hesitation on both sides as their lips tentatively brushed, but then Steve’s fingers were curled around the back of his neck, the other hand splayed across the side of Tony’s face, holding him so very carefully as their lips met again and again, until one or the other of them grew brave, deepened the kiss. Steve tasted like honey, or something equally sweet, but showed no hesitation in chasing down the saltness of Tony’s tears. Tony knew his lips were chapped, and he probably looked like a blotchy-faced mess, but Steve’s eyes were warm, and drinking him in as if he was beautiful, and precious. Tony allowed it for a moment, but then had to close his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of what he had done. There was nothing to do but kiss back, pour everything he’d left unsaid into the kiss, hoping Steve could feel how much Tony cared, how very much he wanted this to work between them.

And eventually, they were left standing close, arms around each other, foreheads pressed together. “Thank you,” Steve whispered, his voice breaking, “for standing up to me.”

He pressed one last kiss against Tony’s lips, and then they parted ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, Tony stood up for himself! *cheering and applause* In the next chapter, we'll get to see Steve's floundering attempts to cope with the reality check. The good news is, we're on an upward swing. I'm not saying next week is going to have you smiling at the screen, but maybe the week after that will have a lot of, "thank the fucking maker, Steve Rogers is waking up in there!" 
> 
> This chapter also designates the first "break" in my Google Doc for the story. I do a _lot_ of my writing via my phone, and have had to chunk this story out because loading it on mobile was becoming a struggle. Ch.11 alone is almost 10K. So, uh, while I don't know how many chapters this will ultimately wind up at, you'll have Monday Stony Soap Opera for some time to come. :D
> 
> As always, scream with me / at me, and my undying love and gratitude to all of you leaving comments, and chatting on tumblr, and letting me freak out with you over this insanity. You've all made my day at one time or another. *HUGS*
> 
> PS: Oh, I forgot — the math Tony does? That is legit. I might be weird and have timelines and then used a time calculator to actually figure out how long they'd known each other. *cough* Issues. I have them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you've spent your life living for other people, and hiding from your feelings, self-reflection can be quite difficult. When you're struggling with guilt, and depression, imagining a happy ending for yourself feels impossible. 
> 
> Steve struggles to cope with the aftermath of his conversation with Tony, without being buried alive in an emotional avalanche.

Steve wandered into the office, snatched up his discarded sketchbook and pencil, and headed to his station, stopping along the way to put on a record. In the silent aftermath of Tony’s departure his own breathing sounded loud, chaotic, almost as if his asthma had returned to see how he’d been getting along without it. His eyes stung with unshed tears and his shirt smelled faintly of Tony, to the point of distraction.

The shop felt hollowed out in a way it never had before, the music doing little to help, but Steve knew going upstairs would only be worse. Better to settle into the seat, prop his feet up against the dividing wall, and put pencil to paper. Really, he was meant to be working on a commissioned piece—one he was looking forward to seeing completed—but instead, Steve flipped to a fresh sheet of paper, and drew Tony.

Opening his door to find Tony standing there had been surreal. It was less the unexpected visit and more the state Tony had been in. In Steve's experience, even when he was a bit of a mess, Tony was still incredibly put together. Steve supposed that was out of years of necessity more than vanity. Someone had always been watching, waiting to catch a moment of weakness or imperfection in order to snap a photo.

As his pencil scratched roughly across the paper, Steve tried to focus more on capturing the physicality of Tony's emotional state rather than thinking over any of the things they'd discussed. The page filled with disjointed imagery as Steve drew parts rather than the whole. Tony's eyes, lashes clumped with tears, appearing almost unfamiliar behind the glasses Steve had never seen him wearing before. The normally neat and tidy beard surrounded by days’ worth of stubble. His mouth, twisted to one side while Tony tried to keep the tears at bay. His hands clasped together in his hair, as if worried his thoughts might escape if he didn’t physically hold them in.

Steve tried to remember the last conversation they’d had prior to Tony showing up looking like the world was ending, and drew a blank. As he painstakingly captured the dark circles that had been under Tony’s eyes, Steve had a flash of memory. Something about Bruce's birthday. It would have been earlier in the week that they spoke, Monday, maybe, and now it was Thursday. Had Tony spent the hours and days between those points of contact growing steadily more upset? What did it say about him that Steve was struggling to remember the conversation, while Tony was agonizing over whatever had been said?

Flipping the page, Steve started drawing Tony again, holistically this time, his heart beating faster and faster as he tried to get the right blend of hopelessness and heartbreak in Tony's eyes, the lines of pain in his face, the curve to his hunched shoulders. Tony had been wearing an old sweater that didn't quite fit him right. It was threadbare in some spots, the sleeves a bit too long, and wasn't something he'd expect to find in Tony's clothing arsenal. In combination with the glasses, the beat up jeans, mis-matched sneakers, and lack of grooming, Tony had looked shockingly young, like an awkward teenager had taken possession of his normally suave boyfriend.

Steve's pencil hovered over the page for a moment, the word _boyfriend_ tripping up his thoughts. He didn't have a boyfriend. Tony was his… Well, that was the big question, wasn't it? Tony wanted him to take some time and come to a decision about what their relationship could or should be. Steve wasn't confident a week was going to be enough time to figure it all out and come up with an answer.

With a sigh, Steve flipped back to the tattoo design he was meant to be working on, and attempted to push everything else from his mind. He felt numb in a way he suspected was not appropriate, considering what had happened. It wasn't that he didn't care—Tony's sad eyes flashed in Steve's mind again, and something deep inside twisted up in pain—it was only that Steve was _exhausted_. If he trusted himself to be able to get back up again before Natasha and Clint arrived, Steve would have given in to the urge to slide out of the chair, and curl up on the floor of his station.

Instead, he threw down the paper and pencil, resigned to the understanding he wasn’t going to be getting anything done prior to his first appointment of the day. After turning off the record player and locking up, Steve sprinted up the stairs to his apartment, grabbed his gym bag, and headed back out. He’d already gone for a run after dropping Peter off at preschool, but there was still enough time to go a few rounds with the heavy bag.

Steve walked to the gym as if someone was chasing him, bag slung over his shoulder, jaw tight. He nodded a greeting to a few of the regulars before heading into the locker room to change and tape up his hands. The familiarity of the routine was soothing, so that by the time he was ready for the gloves his hands were no longer shaking.

It was tempting to skip his warm up, go straight to smashing his fists into the bag as hard as possible, but Steve forced himself through his usual paces, shadow boxing before moving onto a light round of jabs to the bag. Concentrating on proper form and controlling his breathing, Steve eventually sank into a fighting stance and set to work.

Each punch to the bag resulted in a satisfyingly clean, crisp sound, punctuated by an exhale, Steve gradually increasing speed and forcefulness, a calmness washing over him as he dripped sweat onto the mats. His muscles ached, his lungs burned, sweat ran into his eyes, and that was _good_ , blocked out everything else, so that for a little while the world fell away. If some of his grunts of exertion sounded closer to choked back sobs, that was only a coincidence.

Gritting his teeth, Steve slammed into the bag a final time before coming to a halt, chest heaving, muscles screaming in protest. It was tempting to keep going, move on to some jump rope work, maybe spend some time with the speed bag before coming back for round two, but his arms were already shaking from the exertion and he had two lengthy appointments to square away before picking up Peter.

After draining half of his water bottle, Steve did some stretching, then headed back into the locker room. Already, the tension was creeping back in around the edges, subtle, but there. Steve knew as soon as the endorphins stopped working their magic, he was going to be crawling out of his skin again.

He was so preoccupied with removing the tape from his hands that it took Steve a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. A man was standing a couple lockers away, half undressed and watching Steve with interest. Thinking nothing of it, he nodded a greeting, even though it wasn’t one of the regulars, surprised when the newcomer very obviously checked him out, then arched an eyebrow, head tilting toward the showers in invitation.

His admirer was all lean, compact muscle and beautiful dark skin, his full lips sculpted as if they’d been made for kissing. Still watching him, the stranger finished undressing, making sure Steve got a good look at what was on offer before covering himself with a towel, an expectant smile hovering around his mouth. Steve’s blood couldn’t decide if it wanted to rush north or south, so split the difference, leaving him half hard and red in the face as he shook his head, turned away, feeling a bit like he’d been suckerpunched.

Despite what Bucky thought, Steve wasn't in complete denial about his looks. It was more that the mental image he had of himself didn’t necessarily match up with what people saw on the outside, so it was always a bit of a surprise when that was challenged. This wasn’t the first time someone had propositioned him at the gym, but it was the first time he’d found himself thinking _yes_ , _please, that is exactly what I need right now_ instead of _wow, does that really work on people_?

As much as Steve’s body wanted to use sex as a way to work out whatever remained of the gnawing tension threatening to drive him mad, the idea of touching someone other than Tony left him feeling sick with dread. Worse still was the idea of someone else touching Tony, marking him, taking Steve’s place.

Sex hadn't seemed worth the effort until he'd met Tony, his self imposed celibacy serving to make Steve forget how good it felt to _want_ , to be wanted in return, to be touched, to have warm skin against his own. Now, he almost regretted his sexual reawakening, because his body had apparently come to depend upon and crave sex in ways he hadn't anticipated. Not just sex, though, sex with _Tony_. Because, really, what was the point of engaging in the act otherwise?

On another morning, he would have picked up his phone, called Tony, asked if it was okay if he swung by, confident he wouldn’t be turned away. There had been many a morning Steve had gone directly to Tony’s penthouse from dropping Peter off at preschool, been welcomed with open arms, then zipped up and headed off to deal with the rest of his day without a second thought. That arrangement had never seemed strange or one-sided to Steve until he was accused of treating Tony like a fuckbuddy.

Looking back over the last few months with Tony's words rattling around in his head, Steve was shocked to find that Tony was right. He'd latched onto the physical intimacy, had been using it as a way to avoid talking, to make himself feel better when he was stressed out, or having a rough day. Apparently he'd been _using_ Tony without realizing or even intending to use him. Now he was never going to be able to shake the mental image of Tony, eyes bright with tears, fingers twisting at the cuffs of the too-long sleeves pulled down over his hands, appearing absolutely _gutted_.

Worse yet, despite everything, Steve couldn't help but think of all the things he desperately wanted to do with Tony, acts they'd never gotten around to, mostly because even in this Steve had been holding himself back. It seemed like some sort of cruel joke that he'd been called out for making Tony his fuckbuddy when they had yet to fuck in the traditional sense.

Feeling confused and ashamed, Steve squeezed his eyes shut, tried to force away the memory of their parting kiss. Of Tony's beautiful wounded eyes fluttering closed, leaving Steve feeling stranded, untethered. He’d grown so accustomed to being able to look into them whenever they kissed that the absence of eye contact left him with an uncomfortable sense of finality.

Exhaling raggedly, Steve threw his things into his bag, deciding to shower back at home, rather than the gym. The momentary reprieve he’d earned through exercise was already fading, the weight of what he and Tony had discussed a heavy weight in his heart as he headed back to the shop.

By the time he’d showered, dressed, and headed back downstairs, Natasha and Clint were in the shop with coffee in hand, arguing over whose turn it was to work the sound system. It was such a relief to have life and laughter in the shop again that he had the impulse to give each of them a hug, thank them for being there.

“Cap, tell Tasha it’s my turn, fair and square,” Clint demanded.

“Pretty sure you subjected us to six hours of punk yesterday,” Steve pointed out. “I’ll take today, and you two can split tomorrow. I’m going to be out.”

Clint slumped in defeat, then immediately got over his disappointment. “Oooh, got fun Friday plans?”

“Peter doesn’t know it yet, but he’s playing hooky, and we’re going to spend the day goofing off together.”

Steve had come to the decision about five minutes after entering his empty apartment, the need to see his son hitting him hard. If he hadn’t already booked appointments he would have just gone and picked Peter up then and there.

Heading to his station, Steve had the distinct impression that he was being scrutinized, the suspicion confirmed a moment later when Natasha slid into place beside him.

“Everything okay?” she asked quietly, handing him a cup of coffee.

Her expression was innocent, but Steve felt very much as if she had seen right through his act. It was a monumental effort to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he’d had to maintain a façade of calm under far worse circumstances, so when he spoke it sounded as if nothing was amiss.

“Sure,” he said, reaching past her to grab his sketchbook, “why wouldn’t it be?”

Natasha blinked slowly, head tilting ever so slightly to the side, then huffed and stalked away, prompting Clint to raise his eyebrows and look to Steve for some clue as to what was bothering Natasha. Steve shrugged, then went through his station prep, mentally counting down the hours until he could leave again.

Once he had work to do, it was better. He could lose himself in the familiar hum of the equipment, troubling thoughts and feelings slipping away as the needles pushed ink into skin. The hours rolled past and he managed to forget all about his morning, so that by the time he finished for the day he grabbed his phone, expecting to see a text message or two from Tony. There was nothing, of course, and Steve’s hard won calm was torn from him all in an instant, leaving him shaken.

Jaw tight, Steve shoved the phone into his pocket, reminding himself it was nobody's fault but his own. When he looked up he found Natasha watching him, her expression serene, except for her eyes.

“Any plans this weekend?” she asked, cracking her gum.

“Spending time with Peter,” Steve answered, shrugging into his coat. “Coming to Sunday dinner at the folks’?”

“Maybe. A client asked me to hold a spot for him to finish up his sleeve.”

“Okay. Chicken Parm tonight. Feel free to pop up and grab a plate.”

Clint gave a little cheer, while Natasha continued her impromptu staring match. Steve opted to give her a parting nod rather than asking what her problem was, then headed out, pausing to swat at the fist Clint had extended for bumping.

The December chill was almost a relief, felt more in keeping with his mood, but once Steve saw Peter’s little face light up and was able to scoop him up and give him a hug and kiss hello, it was as if everything was right in the universe.

“Daddy, we made snowflakes!”

Peter proceeded to dig a pile of paper snowflakes out of his backpack and then kept Steve entertained with a play by play of his day at preschool. By the time they were home, Steve’s mood was improved, but he wasn't stupid enough not to know this was temporary. Peter would go to bed and all of his problems would still be right where he had left them.

“Guess what?” Steve asked when they were home. “Tomorrow is an Adventure Day.”

Peter's eyes went wide and he gave a little cheer, then jump-danced around Steve in circles. Steve scooped him up, gave him a little spin, then settled Peter on his hip.

Adventure Day was something his fathers had started way back when he and Bucky were little and still adjusting to their new lives. Steve had loved them, mostly because you never knew when it would happen. There were qualifications, of course. If either of them was falling behind in schoolwork or chores there definitely wasn't going to be an Adventure Day, but otherwise? You'd wake up one morning and instead of going to school, they'd set off to have some fun as a family. It usually happened on a Friday, because then trips to the Grand Canyon, or Arlington, or Gettysburg were possible. They'd visit museums, parks, aquariums, go to historical sights, and even attended a rodeo on one memorable occasion.

Some of Steve's best memories were from Adventure Days, so he'd made sure to carry on the tradition. Bucky had joined them for more than one, as had Clint, Natasha, and Sam, but even with company along for the ride, there was always a part of Steve that felt bad Peter didn't have a brother or sister to share his Adventure Day with. He and Bucky had relived their own time and time again when they should have been going to sleep, or kept themselves entertained by trying to guess when the next one might be.

“What sort of adventure do we want to have?”

“Dinosaurs!” Peter shouted, then placed a hand over Steve's ear to cover it and said, “dinosaurs,” again, but much quieter this time. “And space! Can we see spaceships?”

“Okay, it sounds like we're having a museum Adventure Day,” Steve said, and Peter gave another cheer, arms coming around Steve's neck to squeeze. “What do you think, should we kick off Adventure Day in style and have a camping night?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Peter chanted. “Can Lucky camp, daddy?”

“I don't know, baby. Clint and Bucky might miss Lucky too much.”

“Uncle Bug and Hawky could camp, too?”

Steve planted a kiss on Peter's forehead, and put him back down. The extra company would be nice, but Bucky would take one look at him and want to know what was wrong. As it was, Steve's thoughts kept returning to Veterans Day, partly because of Tony's visit, but also Bucky's line of questioning from that evening. The last thing he needed was the night turning into an _I told you so_ party. Besides, he wasn't sure he was capable of being around the happy couple after the day he'd had, seeing the easy way Clint and Bucky moved in and out of each other's personal space, sharing kisses and touches, and finishing each other's sentences.

“I think it's just the two of us tonight, Pete. We can see if your uncles want to make plans for next week, though.”

“Okay!”

“Go wash up and you can either help me with dinner, or do some coloring.”

Peter hugged his leg, then went off shrieking happily, chanting, “Adventure, adventure, adventure,” as he went.

Steve watched him go and like he did at least once a day wondered how the hell he'd ever managed without Peter in his life. For the first time, though, he found himself wondering if being Peter’s father was _enough_ , if there wasn’t something unhealthy about how quickly his mood changed when away from his son. The last thing Steve wanted to do was have Peter carry the burden of being responsible for his father’s happiness.

With a sigh, Steve headed for the kitchen. For the moment, he was going to let himself be distracted by having fun with Peter. The mess he'd made of his and Tony's relationship wasn't going to be solved in one night, anyway, so sitting around and brooding wouldn’t do him much good.

He and Peter had dinner together and were in the midst of setting up a tent in the living room when Clint showed up for food, and wound up sticking around to help get them set up. Steve wasn’t sure if he imagined Clint’s behavior as being suspiciously subdued, or if his friend was just tired. After Natasha’s staring, he was beginning to feel paranoid. But nothing was said, and after an hour Clint gave them each a hug and headed back downstairs for his last appointment of the day, so Steve convinced himself it was all in his head.

The living room camping sleepover was a great distraction, up until Peter conked out, and Steve was left staring at the inside of the tent. Unable to help himself, he scrolled back through text message after text message, wincing whenever he found an example of showing a surprising lack of consideration for Tony’s feelings, or needs.

To say it was depressing was an understatement, which in turn left Steve wondering how the hell Tony had put up with his behavior for so long. Had their roles been reversed, Steve would have dumped Tony quite some time ago. And yet, time and again, Tony had simply put his own needs, or wants, or desires aside, and done things Steve’s way.

Unbidden and unwanted, Tony’s words came back to him. “My assumption will always be that I’m the one fucking things up,” he’d said, and Steve hated that he’d somehow picked up on that, and exploited it without intending to do so.

It was a long night, followed by a morning of pancakes at the diner, and then the welcome distractions of Adventure Day, and Peter’s endless enthusiasm for learning. The dinosaurs were easier, but once they headed to the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum it was hard to stop himself from thinking about Tony. Not because Stark Industries had been involved in the creation of much of what they saw that day, either. Steve couldn’t help but think it might be fun to have Tony along for the ride; he tended to get little-kid excited when given a chance to discuss his passions, and would probably have legitimate answers to some of Peter’s questions. Thinking of Tony only left him uncomfortable and uncertain, and so Steve shoved at the intrusive thoughts, and attempted to carry on with enjoying Adventure Day.

By the time Sunday rolled around, he’d gotten himself to the point where he felt confident Bucky wouldn’t immediately pull him aside to start grilling him, but his brother and Clint had conflicting plans, and were conspicuously absent. On the one hand, this meant Steve didn’t have to worry about Bucky becoming suspicious, but on the other, it did mean he had to keep up more than his normal share of the conversation around the dinner table.

“Alright, out with it, kiddo.”

At least Dum Dum had been kind enough to wait until he was doing dishes before sidling up to have a word, Peter otherwise occupied with the rest of the Commandos.

“What?”

A large, warm hand took him by the shoulder, and Steve resigned himself to the fact that Dum Dum wasn’t going to play along. With a sigh, Steve let himself be led to the kitchen table, much as he’d done countless times as a child. Dum Dum had always been the one to take him aside, make him open his “stubborn mouth” whenever he’d gone and gotten lost in his head over something.

“I’m not—”

Dum Dum cut him off with a wave and Steve sat down. “You don't have to tell me all the gory details,” Dum Dum said. “Something’s up. Ain't no point in worrying on it alone when you have family and friends ready to help shoulder the load.”

Steve smiled at this, ducking his head as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I know. You don't have to worry about me, though. I'm fine.”

“Which of us are you trying to convince?” When Steve looked up in surprise, Dum Dum was watching him with sad eyes. “You've got a particular hang dog look about you. Last time I remember seeing the likes of it was way back when you and Peggy decided friends was a better fit.”

This caught him completely off guard, so much so that Steve actually laughed, and felt himself blush. “I haven't had any epiphanies about my sexual orientation, if that's what you mean.”

“Good to know. So, it's a fella you're sweet on, then.” Dum Dum didn't bother making it a question, and the glint in his eyes made it equally clear Steve wasn't getting out of the conversation.

Steve squirmed in his seat, feeling seventeen all over again. “There's a guy,” he admitted, and it felt simultaneously like a weight being lifted from his chest and preparing to drop into an active combat zone. “But, it might be over.” Something deep inside of Steve felt like it'd been twisted round the wrong way, so much so that he had to take a moment to catch his breath. “I don't think I'm very good for him.”

Dum Dum made a soft, contemplative sound. “True enough. Some people aren't good for each other,” he said, scratching at his stubbled jaw. “But, I gotta ask, Steve, are you saying that because you're scared, or because it's the truth?”

“The truth is I hurt him,” Steve snapped.

“Intentionally?”

“No,” he answered, surprised and wounded. “Of course not.”

Dum Dum shrugged. “Well then, learn from your mistakes and don't do it again.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, too surprised to know what to say. “It's not that simple. I'm not… Relationships aren't for everyone. You all did fine on your own.”

“We had each other,” Dum Dum pointed out. “We also had our own romances, I'll have you know. We kept the drama out of the household, but we each and every one of us learned the hard way that if life gives you a shot at love, you take it.”

Steve found himself momentarily dumbstruck, but Dum Dum just grinned and shrugged.

“Don't hide from living your life, Steve. All that'll get you is a big ol’ bag of regrets. You don't want to be my age and looking back, wondering what if.”

The words rattled around in Steve’s head, leaving him feeling edgy with panic. “I'm supposed to decide whether or not I want a relationship, and all I can think is that it would be for the best if I said goodbye _now_ ,” he admitted, staring down at the worn surface of the kitchen table. “I'm… I don't think I can give him what he wants.”

“What does he want,” Dum Dum asked, “a kidney? The two of you to run off to Mexico? For you to ditch Peter?”

“No,” Steve sputtered, feeling his face flush.

He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. Trying to explain what he felt where Tony was concerned had always been a problem for Steve, even inside of his own head. Everything Dum Dum said was logical, but didn’t change the fact that the idea of something long term with Tony felt _impossible_ , downright fantastical even.

“Steven Rogers, you're one of the bravest people I know,” Dum Dum said, reaching across the table to give his hand a squeeze. “Don't you go stopping now, just because this is unfamiliar territory.”

Eyes stinging with tears, Steve ducked his head and struggled to get himself under control. He didn't feel brave, but then, he'd _never_ felt truly brave, not once in his life. He'd executed orders, or stepped in because it was the right thing to do and no one else was going to do it, but brave? Never that.

“Alright. Do you care about this man?” Dum Dum asked after a moment, quiet and intense.

Steve thought of Tony sitting on his couch with red rimmed eyes and messy hair, looking to him for any indication that Steve wanted him for more than a quickie, broken and sad, because Steve had made him that way. As much as the idea of doing so left him on the edge of panic, the memory alone had Steve wanting to wrap Tony up in his arms, find some way to make it better.

“Yes,” he managed to choke out past the lump of feelings lodged in his throat.

“And I take it he cares about you?”

Not trusting his voice, Steve nodded. Tony had said as much, and more importantly, he'd shown it through his words and actions, had set his own happiness aside in an attempt to hold onto whatever it was they'd been doing. Steve had thought it was a relationship at the time, but there was no point in lying to himself anymore. Tony had been the only one of them acting like he was part of a team; as much as it filled him with shame, Steve recognized he’d only been in it for himself.

“Well then, don't you owe it to him to try? To yourself? Hell, son, do it for me and your dads if that makes it easier for you.”

Steve smiled despite how awful he was feeling, brushed away the few tears that had managed to escape. He wished he could shove his feelings into someone else's chest for a moment, so they could understand how _monumentally hard_ it was for him, these things that seemed to come naturally to everyone else.

“Let me leave you with this,” Dum Dum said, sliding out of his seat to come stand at Steve's shoulder. “Before Ben Parker showed up on your doorstep with bad news, would you ever have thought yourself capable of being a parent? I'd wager the answer is no. And look at you now. Ain't never seen someone take to fatherhood the way you did. That little boy is the light of your life, but once upon a time you'd have written off the idea of him as impossible. This fella of yours? Might just be the same life changing situation, Steve. None of us have any idea what the future holds, which is why we can't live life acting like we’ll have a second go ‘round.”

Dum Dum gave his shoulder a squeeze and left Steve alone to think, which was for the best. Mostly, he sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands until he regained control of the conflicting pit of emotions inside of his chest that was threatening to swallow him whole. With a heavy heart, he finished the dishes, then wandered into the family room, where Peter was curled up in Gabe’s lap, flipping through a storybook with a contented smile on his face.

From across the room, Dum Dum gave him a nod and a smile, and Steve settled down beside Jim, pretended to watch the game. At some point, Jim hooked an arm around his shoulders, tugged him in close. Steve slouched a bit, let himself stay wrapped up all safe and sound, his thoughts drifting in and out and around the idea of family, and life, and living.

Hours later, with Peter tucked into bed, Steve pulled out his laptop and started doing somesearching. It was stupid, but he really wanted to see Tony's face and scrolling through his phone he quickly realized the only photo he had of Tony was his tattoo. Not once has it occurred to him to snap a photo when they were together, even though he had a sketchbook entirely dedicated to drawings of Tony.

So there he sat, feeling pathetic as he scoured the internet for photos of Tony. Steve wasn't sure how to feel about the top search results. Most of what came up was from years ago, and he wondered how anyone had ever accepted Tony's smiles for genuine, himself included. Seeing him with pretty girls hanging off of his arm was uncomfortable, as were the photos of Tony some scumbag had taken when he was heading into rehab.

Steve had a pang of guilt so severe he had to close the laptop and walk away for a moment, remembering Tony's off handed remark, “I can’t believe I used to drink like this all the time.” Sure, Tony’s sobriety was ultimately something only he had control over, but it was impossible to feel blameless for Tony having slipped into old coping habits.

Taking a deep breath, Steve snatched the computer back up, moving to the kitchen island. The couch came with too many memories, and it seemed strange to be researching Tony while sitting in the spot where they’d first explored each other’s bodies.

With some changes to his search terminology, Steve found himself presented with an old story someone had done on the boy genius set to inherit the Stark legacy. The article spoke glowingly of Tony’s achievements, photos of the family interspersed throughout. They made Steve’s heart ache, because in at least a dozen of them Tony was no older than Peter, and yet there he was, being paraded around by his father.

Even in the obviously staged photos of Howard, Maria, and Tony together, Tony appeared somehow separate from his parents, confusingly outside of the family unit. Howard and Maria were seated together on a couch, while Tony stood almost at attention at Howard’s side, more a prop than anything else. The candid photos were even worse, showing his engaging, dynamic parents at ease in their element, while Tony trailed after them, all big brown eyes and a forced smile, seemingly forgotten by everyone but the cameraman.

Tony didn’t talk about his childhood, but then again, Steve had never bothered to ask, so the only information he had was from their not-date at the diner, and a mention of Howard during Tony’s tattoo consultation. Looking at the photos and reading terrifyingly adult quotes from a four-year old Tony about circuit boards, it was hard not to recall his offhanded remark about Howard Stark and his exacting standards.

Steve spent almost fifteen solid minutes staring at a photo of a much smaller Tony that had been taken in Howard Stark’s workshop. He was dressed in a little suit and lab coat, so on the periphery that he almost hadn’t made it into the photo at all. Steve had seen that look in Tony’s eyes more than once, as if he was searching desperately for answers, some clue as to how he was meant to behave, to perform, in order to gain some sign of approval. He’d let himself ignore what had been right in front of his face, too caught up in the immediacy of physical intimacy, but now there was no going back.

Feeling a bit foolish, Steve grabbed the notebook he normally used for his grocery lists, flipped to a fresh page, scribbling notes for when he and Tony next saw each other. If he was going to take Dum Dum’s advice and give it another shot, Steve needed to _really_ _try_ , which in turn meant he needed a plan. Before, he’d always held onto some strange conviction that what they were doing was temporary. Obviously, Tony had been on a different page entirely. Tony had been thinking about building a future with Steve, one where he was actually a part of his day to day life in more than a superficial sense. That meant meeting Steve’s family, spending time with his friends, meeting _Peter_.

Out of everything, it was the idea of introducing Tony to Peter that left Steve the most on edge and uncomfortable. Not _once_ over the course of their time together had it occurred to him that Tony and Peter would need to meet each other some day. Now, Steve needed to give it careful consideration, because otherwise, there was no point in trying anything with Tony.

Making a mess of his own heart was one thing, but the idea of folding Tony into his life and letting Peter get attached, only to have their relationship fall apart again left Steve sick to his stomach. Peter had already lost both of his biological parents—there was no way Steve was putting him through anything even remotely like that again. Yes, he’d need to plan for the eventuality, but Tony would also need to understand that it wasn’t going to happen overnight, and would only happen when Steve was ready.

Socializing with friends would be safer, even though it would be hard for Steve. They’d already met Tony and gotten along fine. Steve scribbled _New Year’s Eve?_  in his notepad before stopping to yawn. Glancing at the clock, he was surprised to find it was after two in the morning. With a sigh, Steve set aside his page of notes, closed the laptop, and headed off to bed.

As Steve drifted into a restless sleep, his last conscious thought was to realize that somewhere over the course of his evening he’d made his choice. For better or worse, he was going to take the second chance Tony was offering and do his damndest to _work at it_  this time, see if he couldn’t make up for the pain he’d already caused. He just hoped it wasn’t too late, for either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the thing with Steve being hit on in the gym locker room is totally stolen from a real life scenario a friend of mine experienced. Only, unlike Steve, he accepted the offer.
> 
> Also, Ishtar12 immediately picked up on the DIY art therapy happening at the beginning of the chapter. By now, we should all be painfully aware of the ways in which Steve doesn't know how to handle his feelings sometimes. He very much is attempting to process what he and Tony discussed, but has to approach this differently than you or I might do. You could look at this chapter as Steve repeatedly and slowly opening a release valve, because if it happened all at once, he'd just shut down. 
> 
> Also also - Uncle Bug! Hahaha. Peter can say Bucky now, but not when he was younger, and Bug & Hawky stuck. 
> 
> Also also also - Thank you, Dum Dum. I know some people were probably waiting for Sam, or Bucky, or Nat to engage with Steve on this, but Dum Dum can pull the, "listen to yer dad," thing without triggering Steve's defensive stubbornness. That's... important. Nat or Bucky coming at him at this critical moment would 89% likely result in Steve cashing out while he's ahead, and missing out on one of the best things in his life. Instead, we'll begin to see more of the other side of Steve, as he gains a bit of self awareness, and realizes how very much he WANTS and NEEDS Tony in his life. Whew.
> 
> Let's all give sad baby Tony hugs, yes? Hope everyone had a happy whatever your preferred holiday tradition celebration is/was/will be? Erm... That sentence is strange. *shrug* As always, I LOVE YOU ALL~~!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is always a good bro. Pepper gets a sitrep. Tony handles waiting about as well as you'd expect. Steve makes breakfast, and opens his mouth, giving Tony some missing pieces of the puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Uh. I know this is going to sound like bullshit, but the DAY upon which Steve & Tony reconvene to have their follow up relationship talk? That was a magical accident of fate. Or, in reality, my subconscious is revealing itself to be an Evil Asshole. See, I have this timeline of their relationship, because it helps me keep shit straight, and also helps for when Tony calculates how much time has passed in his head. Like, during their Big Talk? I actually figured out the time they met at the shop, and then the time of morning it was on that day, so I could have that be accurate. Anywho, I didn't think anything of it until it I realized that exactly 1 week later would be... yeah. I immediately jumped on my imagine tony & bucky gals screaming about what a monster my subconscious is. BUT! It worked out great for writing that chapter, so... *shifty eyes* Sorry not sorry?

Tony didn't bother to go home after his conversation with Steve. Bruce was already in the lab by the time Tony showed up at his place, but he had a key and permission to make himself at home, so it was a non-issue. He'd been operating on a sleep deficit before drinking himself stupid; between that, the hangover, and the emotional roller coaster ride, it was no surprise that Tony was still asleep on the couch when Bruce came home that evening.

Waking up happened in stages. A growing awareness of Bruce doing something in the kitchen, followed by the scent of sautéing vegetables. A hand brushed over the top of his head as Tony burrowed into his nest of blankets, prolonging the inevitable. His grumbling stomach and need to pee eventually won out, and Tony stumbled into Bruce's bathroom, wincing at the sight of himself in the mirror.

“Looking rough, Stark.” For a lark, he tried on a smile, holding it in place until it looked natural. “Still got it.”

When he exited, Bruce was waiting for him with an overflowing plate and a large mug of coffee. This time when Tony smiled it was for a good reason.

“You're an amazing friend,” Tony said, shoveling food into his mouth. “I don't tell you enough.”

“No talking with your mouth full,” Bruce teased, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile. They were in the same ‘compliments make me nervous’ club, so Tony let it slide, made a show of chewing enthusiastically.

“I get the feeling you took Natasha's advice.”

Tony nodded, washed his stir fry down with coffee, then spoke. “Yeah, I was kind of scared not to after the literal wake up call she gave me.” Tony took a moment to move his food around the plate, then sighed. “Besides, it was good advice. Steve was, ah, sort of surprised by how some of his behavior came across.”

“Did he apologize?” Bruce asked very carefully, his chopsticks making little _click click_ noises.

“Yeah, even thanked me for, er, confronting him? Talking. Whatever. Also, I, uh, might have told him he needs to take some time to decide whether or not he  _wants_ to be in a relationship. We're meeting in a week to negotiate terms.”

“Really?” Bruce appeared pleasantly surprised. “Good. Whatever you decide upon, hold him to it, Tony.”

They ate in silence for a mone time, then Bruce made it better by catching him up on an experiment he'd been running, so that by the time Tony headed home, he felt like a person again, rather than a poorly constructed bundle of feelings passing itself off as a man.

When he arrived, the penthouse was as dark, empty, and uninviting as ever. Tony wandered from room to room, looking for evidence of his hasty departure, but the cleaning staff had been through and tidied up after him. Something about that made him uncomfortable.

“Please tell me this isn't an emergency,” Pepper said by way of greeting when answering her phone. Tony's heart gave a little lurch at the sound of her voice.

“No emergencies,” Tony swore. “Uh, unless me missing you counts as one, which, now that I think about it—”

“Hi, Tony,” Pepper said, and while she still sounded tired, there was so much affection in her voice that Tony found himself smiling in response.

“There's a backlog of ice cream in my freezer, Pepper.” She laughed and Tony switched the call over to the penthouse’s built in speakers so he could pretend she was there with him. “How're things?”

“Things are good. Busy. Crazy. But good. Day three of the merger and no one is burning me in effigy, so I must be doing something right. We managed to pull it off without any layoffs, which helps.”

“Congratulations,” Tony said, although he was grimacing. He'd been so wrapped up in his own melodrama he’d managed to forget all about the merger. “Have I mentioned you're amazing and SI is lucky to have you at the helm? You should give yourself a raise.”

Pepper’s laugh floated around the empty penthouse, making Tony smile again. “I'll take that under advisement.”

Straining his ears, Tony could pick up the sounds of Pepper shifting around, perhaps shuffling some papers. He wondered if she was at home or still in the office. He hoped it was home, curled up on the couch, maybe tucking her hair behind one of her perfect little ears.

“How about other stuff? Gonna make it back to the East Coast for the whole Christmas and New Years rigmarole?”

Tony wandered over to the bar, taking down bottles one by one. In addition to Pepper’s preferred ice cream, coffee, and his seemingly never ending supply of brain food snacks, someone kept his bar well stocked. Tony had no idea how much that cost, but had a feeling normal people would wince if he dumped everything down the drain, so he left the collection of bottles by the sink, and set off to see if he could find a box or some bags.

“Well, I was hoping to convince you to come out here for Christmas. Jim already said yes.”

“When are you going to take pity on Rhodey and let him love you?” Tony asked.

“Shut up,” Pepper said, but Tony could hear the blush in her voice. “So what do you say, Christmas in California?”

“Sure,” Tony agreed, still mostly distracted by his inability to find anything in his own home. “Hey, so I was thinking, I don't want housekeepers or cleaning staff for the penthouse anymore.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

Tony let out a little hoot of triumph as he uncovered an unopened espresso machine in one of his many kitchen cabinets. “Holy shit, when did this espresso maker thingee get here? This is going in the workshop.”

“Tony?”

“Nothing happened. Keep them on payroll, I don't want anyone fired or anything, I just want them to stop cleaning up after me.”

While Pepper sighed at him from another timezone, Tony opened the box and pulled the contents out onto the floor until he was surrounded by espresso machine parts and packaging. Once the box was liberated of its contents, he filled it up with bottles of booze, quickly running out of room.

“You’re gonna need a bigger boat,” he muttered to himself, then louder, to Pepper, said, “and no more hooch. How do I stop that? Actually, while I’m thinking of it, how do I change what gets delivered in general? Is there a cheat sheet somewhere for this stuff?”

“Tony, slow down.” Pepper was using her placating voice. “Where is this coming from?”

Feeling frustrated, Tony used his feet to push the box toward the bar, the bottles inside rattling dangerously as he went. Once there, he shoved whatever was left on top, leaving everything rather precariously balanced, but technically inside the box.

“I’m a forty-year-old man, and I’ve never done laundry or washed a fucking dish,” Tony bitched, glaring down at the box. “I don’t even know how the hell my food gets here, or what happens with the trash! It’s pathetic, Pepper.”

“Tony, that isn’t _pathetic_ , it’s practical,” Pepper answered calmly.

“Right, because I’m incapable of handling my own life”

It was tempting to start chucking bottles off of the balcony, but he’d probably wind up killing someone, so Tony settled for marching back into the kitchen to dispose of the abundance of ice cream.

“ _Or_ , your time is better spent elsewhere,” Pepper countered. “So you’ve never gone grocery shopping—big deal. Tony, it would take me about an hour to list your contributions to the scientific community this year alone!”

Tony shoved his hands through his hair, frustration mounting. “That doesn’t make me _exempt_ , Pepper.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Tony?”

There was something satisfying about scooping ice cream out into the sink, so Tony allowed himself to become distracted for a moment before opening his mouth again.

“I might have told Steve to take a week to figure out if he wants to be with me,” he admitted, “which was stupid, right? He’s going to dump me. How could he not? He’s _practical_ , Pepper, and really big on hard work, and responsibility, and he has a _kid._  Even you have to admit the idea of me as a parent is a joke. I can’t even take care of myself!” Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe. Tony had to sit down on the floor, his back against the cabinets as the room wobbled before him, momentarily obscured by tears. “Fuck, no wonder he wants me nowhere near Peter.”

“Did he say that to you?” Pepper asked, all of the warmth suddenly absent from her voice.

Tony laughed. “No, that would mean he actually talked to me about anything important. Which he doesn’t. Didn’t. Won’t ever, probably. Whatever.”

“Right, I need you to back up and start again from the beginning, Tony,” Pepper said, her voice tight and controlled the way it only got when she was truly upset.

She wasn’t going to let him brush it off, either, so Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat and backtracked for her. There were stops along the way, Pepper wanting more information, or for him to explain why he’d misrepresented Steve’s behavior when talking with her over the last few months, but eventually they reached the end. Tony didn’t necessarily feel _better_ , but there was a welcome lightness that came from spilling his guts.

“Maybe you should take the week to decide whether _he’s_ good enough for _you_ ,” Pepper said. Tony had retrieved one of the cartons of ice cream and was slowly working his way through the contents, but set it aside at her words.

“He’s a Medal of Honor recipient, Pepper,” Tony pointed out, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Good for him.” Tony could almost hear the eyeroll. “At the very least, promise me you’ll tell someone if he falls back into old behaviors.”

With a sigh, Tony clambered up off of the floor and tossed the mostly emptied ice cream carton into the trash. “Fine. I hereby officially promise.”

“Okay, good. If you’re still interested, I sent you the cheat sheet you wanted,” Pepper said. “And I’ll talk to the cleaning crew tomorrow. No firings. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Tony smiled, despite everything. “Thanks. Hey, uh, I love you, Pep. You know that, right?”

“I love you, too, Tony,” Pepper answered immediately. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yup. See you at Christmas.”

After the call was ended, the silence in the penthouse seemed ominous, so he turned on the TV. That taken care of, Tony snapped a photo of his boxed up booze and sent it off to Natasha, asking if she'd like to take it off his hands. Once that was done he headed for the bathroom to shave and wash away the funk. And then, as happened sometimes, he had an idea inspired by Bruce's latest experiment, and headed to the workshop.

Tony spent the following days working with Bruce on their potential breakthrough, trying his best to forget he had a life outside of work. Somehow, coming home was easier when there were clothes on the floor and plates in the sink, Tony intentionally letting things pile up. The end result was the penthouse looking like someone lived there. It didn't make him any less lonely, but it was _something_ at least.

He had his first foray into tidying in advance of Natasha coming over to pick up his unwanted alcohol, and was somewhat surprised when she stuck around afterwards for an impromptu _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ marathon. Even though he was desperate to know if Steve had said anything, or acted liked he missed Tony in the slightest, he managed to keep his questions to himself. Instead, they finalized plans for taking Bruce out to dinner for his birthday, and shared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Tony had made with his own hands.

But, try as he might, Tony was unable to distract himself for any prolonged period of time. An hour and twenty-nine minutes while deep in the trenches of science with Bruce was his underwhelming highscore. Time and again, he'd find himself counting down the remaining time in his head, wondering what the future held for him and Steve. Tony composed and deleted numerous text messages, occasionally having the panicked conviction that he’d accidentally sent one. The dread piled up little by a little and only became worse when he bothered to look at a calendar and realized what a monumental asshole his subconscious was. Assuming Steve had meant a standard seven-day week, if they stuck to the schedule then The Big Talk would be had on the sixteenth of December.

“Hey, way to go, me. Why _not_ make a shitty day shittier?”

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Tony was agonizing over whether he should reach out to Steve about an actual time and location for their meeting, but it became a moot point around lunchtime.

“Hey, good sign or bad sign?” he asked, shoving his phone close to Bruce’s face.

For an adorable moment, Bruce moved back and forth, trying to focus on the text message before ultimately snatching the phone from Tony's hand. “Hey. Hope you're well. If tomorrow is still okay, we could do my place at nine. I'll make breakfast.” He handed the phone over and shrugged. “Well, he's inviting you into his home and offering to cook for you. Good sign?”

“Or, he's planning on letting me down easy, and thinks pancakes will distract me from the chasm of suck I'm about to fall into face first.”

“He could have suggested breakfast at the diner if he was going to end things,” Bruce pointed out. “A public place almost ensures the other person behaves when given the bad news.”

Tony latched onto this nugget of hope. “Yeah, okay, I can see that. Right. I'm replying affirmatively. You're my witness. Sent.”

“Hey, isn't tomorrow—”

“Yes,” Tony said, cutting him off. “Please distract me for the next twenty hours and thirty-four minutes.”

Bruce did his best, but it didn't work. Tony gave up on getting any sleep somewhere around one in the morning and occupied himself with cleaning up the penthouse. Or, more specifically, watching videos about proper protocol for non-lab style cleaning, finding a store that was open, buying supplies, and then cleaning the penthouse. At the end of it all, he was left with a surprising sense of accomplishment. Of course, by the time he was getting dressed, Tony was frowning at himself in the mirror. Feeling triumphant over basic cleaning?

“Lame, Stark,” he muttered, “very, _very_ lame.”

With a sigh, he shrugged himself into his coat, and headed out. For once, it was easy to avoid speeding, Tony feeling anything but in a rush to get to his destination. Going all in, he put on The Smiths, cranked the volume, and sang along until he pulled up in front of SHIELD Tattoo. Tony sat in silence for almost eight minutes, trying to talk himself into letting go of the steering wheel, crossing the street, and ringing the bell.

And somehow, despite feeling as if his artificial heart had finally decided it was sick of being stuck inside the chest of a loser and was going to escape, Tony managed to stay upright when the door opened. One minute there was wood and paint, and the next Steve Rogers was standing before him, neat as a pin from his polished shoes to the tidy little part in his hair.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve said, and _fuck_ , there was the panic, hitting him hard on the back of hearing the deep rumble of Steve’s voice again.

What if this was the last time he ever rang the bell and Steve answered? It was a very real possibility, and one Tony wasn’t even remotely prepared to cope with. Depending on how things went, he really _would_ need to move to California, because there was no way he could live in the same city as Steve Rogers and not ever be able to see him again.

“It’s me,” he managed lamely, looking away, feeling overwhelmed and sick to his stomach.

Thankfully, Steve took pity on him, tugged him inside, closed the door behind him, and then they were standing together at the bottom of the stairs, Tony too scared to look up and into Steve’s eyes, until he heard, “It’s really nice to see you.”

Surprised, he raised his eyes and found Steve watching him with the sort of intensity he normally reserved for sketching. Tony blinked and focused on Steve’s mouth, instead, then the spot just between his eyebrows—anywhere but into the confusing blue depths of Steve’s eyes.

“Really?”

There was the tiniest of furrows in Steve’s brow, but when he spoke his voice was soft and sad, rather than irritated. “Really. I missed you.” 

Despite everything, Tony suddenly couldn’t contain a smile, was surprised to see Steve fighting one of his own, cheeks going pink as he cleared his throat, and motioned to the stairs. “We should, ah, head upstairs.”

“Right. Upstairs.” Tony shoved his hands deep into his pockets, managed to keep from taking the steps two at a time, buoyed by sudden optimism. Steve was very much not acting like he was preparing to crush Tony’s heart into dust.

Stepping into Steve’s home, Tony was overwhelmed by warmth and familiarity. Whatever Steve was making smelled delicious and contributed to the whole ‘home’ vibe Tony was getting. Since he’d last been there, a Christmas tree had taken over one corner of the living room, a couple of neatly wrapped gifts tucked beneath, some obviously Peter-made decorations scattered around the place. It was enough to make him rethink Christmas, which had always been a grim affair in the Stark household. Tony was willing to bet the holiday was a lot more fun when you had a family to share it with.

Steve was standing at his elbow, hands held up in a silent offer to take Tony’s coat. “Should I be worried by the somber attire?” he asked once that was taken care of, eyes darting as he took in Tony’s black three piece suit.

Just like that, Tony felt like he’d come crashing back down to Earth. “It’s, um, the anniversary of my parents’ death,” he managed. “After this, I was going to the graveyard to pay my respects.”

“Shit, Tony,” Steve said on a sharp exhale, and before he knew what was happening, Tony found himself wrapped up tight, one of Steve’s large hands cradling the back of his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I mean, I _knew_ it was the sixteenth—but with everything else, I didn’t make the connection. Do you want to reschedule?”

“No, it’s fine,” Tony said, feeling broadsided. Not only by Steve’s immediate attempt to comfort him, but by the fact that he even knew what day Tony’s parents had died. Steve’s grip had loosened up, but Tony was still tucked against Steve’s chest, feeling drunk on proximity. “Today already sucks, so I figured if you’d changed your mind about us, at least I could be efficient, you know, consolidate the misery. And, uh, if not, then maybe I’d have a reason to like the day.”

There was an unexpected amount of emotional response visible on Steve’s face when Tony stepped out of the embrace, which was a relief, somehow. Then he opened his mouth and further surprised the shit out of Tony by sharing something personal.

“I was more or less still a baby when my biological father died,” Steve said, “so my memories of him are second hand, really. Stuff ma told me while looking through photo albums.” His eyes were bright as he studied Tony’s face. “ _Her_ I remember, though.”

Tony shifted awkwardly, feeling at a total loss. What with the five dads and a brother situation Steve had going on, Tony had forgotten he wasn’t the only orphan in the room. Steve had never mentioned his biological parents before, but then again, he hadn’t mentioned the Medal of Honor, either. That had slipped out one night when hanging out with Natasha.

“Sounds like they’re good memories, at least.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, the look in his eyes saying otherwise. “Some of them are. I hope you have some, too.”

“A few.” Clearing his throat, Tony shrugged and stared at his shoes. “So, um...”

“Hope you like French toast,” Steve said, taking the hint and dropping the whole dead parents topic. With a sigh of relief, Tony trailed after him.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Communists, according to three out of five dads,” Steve answered with a wry smile, setting a mouthwatering portion of French Toast down in front of Tony. “Careful, the plate is warm. And don’t worry, there’s coffee.”

It was a close thing, but Tony managed to bite back his default response to an offer of coffee, which was, “I love you.” Considering the forthcoming topic of conversation, it was wildly inappropriate, despite being true. The last thing he needed to do was scare Steve off, not when things were looking promising.

For lack of anything better to do, Tony shoved a forkful of French Toast into his mouth, then found himself stifling an offer of marriage. “Okay, this is amazing.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, sounding pleased. He then reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, smoothing it down against the table beside his plate.

“Holy shit, you have notes?” Tony blurted, wincing, but Steve’s eyes were still warm, even as his expression shifted to the defensive. “Sorry, not judging, just feeling underprepared.”

“Tony, I’m pretty sure you’ve been prepared since asking me out to dinner,” Steve said, sounding solemn. “I’m the one playing catch-up, here.”

That made it sound a lot like Steve had _actually_ spent their time apart thinking things through. Tony was suddenly terrified he was going to be read a list of demands he wouldn’t be able to say no to, out of sheer desperation. The hug, and the sharing, and breakfast—it was all too much and not enough. He couldn't cope with saying goodbye.

“Okay.”

Steve took a deep breath, and then looked up, the paper seemingly forgotten. As Tony looked into Steve’s eyes, everything else seemed to fall away. “Right. Being with you scares the shit out of me.”

Tony felt a little like he’d been suckerpunched. “Oh.”

“This is... I’ve never… Well, when I said you were my longest relationship, I probably should have mentioned the previous record holder was back in high school.” Steve looked down at his plate, the tiniest of smiles twisting his mouth up on one side. “Peggy was from England and even more of a military brat than I was, if you can believe it. I admired the hell out of her, and had myself convinced we were going to get married, the whole shebang.”

“Wow,” Tony was admittedly shocked. “How long were you together?”

Steve chuckled. “Three whole months. I know, very much high school thinking there. Pretty sure Peggy knew all along it wouldn’t work out that way, but, ah, hell, maybe she was holding out hope she was wrong. You’d like her. Peggy’s the one who pointed out I might want to stop fighting my attraction to men.”

“Definitely a fan of her advice,” Tony answered, mildly shocked when Steve laughed again. It was strange seeing him so relaxed when talking about something personal.

“I made this one incredibly awkward attempt in the backseat of a car,” Steve continued, grinning across the table. “Peggy took pity on me before it got too pathetic, asked some leading questions, helped me come to the conclusion almost like I’d done it on my own. She made being gay seem perfectly normal, which was a first for me.”

“Three cheers for Peggy,” Tony said, hanging on every word. “Was it tough, coming out to your dads?”

“Awkward, sure. They’re too supportive at times, if that makes any sense? Gabe and Jacques were ready to organize a Pride Parade through the neighborhood.”

Tony had a pang of jealousy, remembering his own father’s reaction when he’d been caught experimenting back in boarding school. He was pretty sure over enthusiastic support was better than a black eye, split lip, and ultimatums from Howard Stark. “A spotlight on their differences—just what every teenager dreams of. Did you two keep in touch?”

“Yeah. She tried to talk me out of enlisting, then made me promise to write to her when I went and did it anyway.” Steve’s smile was already fading. “She’s got a couple kids now, back in England.”

“Well, if you happen to talk to her anytime soon, send her my thanks.”

Steve nodded. “Anyway, the point I was trying to make in there somewhere is that I’m not as experienced as you. With any of this, really.”

“Hey, I’m no relationship expert,” Tony felt the need to point out. “And if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who's scared.” Steve gave him a sharp look, and Tony felt the sudden need to be positive Steve understood he wasn’t joking. “I’m dead serious, Steve, _none_ of this is easy or natural for me, either. I’ve had more than one professional point out my crippling trust issues. Before we met, I could count the important people in my life on one hand and still have fingers left over. I’m not…” he swallowed the word _loveable_ and stumbled on. “I’ve always been better with numbers than people.”

“You’re selling yourself short there,” Steve said, meeting his eyes again. “Between the two of us, you’ve done a much better job.”

Tony pushed on, hating how monumental Steve’s words felt. “So, we’re both scared. Good to know.”

Steve nodded and stared down in the direction of his list, although his eyes seemed to look through it rather than at the words on the page. “I’m going to mess up again,” he said after a while, wearing a self deprecating smile. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call me on it when it happens. I don’t… I’m not saying I won’t try to do better this time ‘round,” he explained, ducking his head. “Just being practical.”

“Alright,” Tony agreed. There was something so surreal about the conversation that he was left feeling as if he was on the verge of waking up. Maybe he’d accidentally poisoned himself with cleaning supplies, and was really sprawled unconscious on the bathroom floor. “If I do or say something that makes you uncomfortable, it’d be helpful for you to explain why. And, hey, if you don’t actually _know_ why, you can always explain the what.”

“Okay.” Steve swallowed. “I should warn you. According to pretty much everyone who knows me, I’m stubborn and tightlipped at the best of times. Joining the Army didn’t help any.”

Tony watched the muscle twitching in Steve’s jaw and wanted to lean across the table to kiss it better. That wasn’t going to do either of them any favors, though, and neither would pointing out that Tony was already painfully familiar with Steve’s stubbornness.

“I’m not always forthcoming, either,” he offered when Steve continued to sit in silence.

Steve raised his eyes and Tony wished he had a way into Steve’s mind. It certainly looked like there was a lot going on up in his head at the moment. “You tried, though. For me.” Which wasn’t fair, really, because Tony could only nod dumbly in response. “I considered… Well. Breaking things off.”

Tony suddenly found his plate of food particularly worthy of his attention, even if his appetite up and left him in the lurch. Of _course_ Steve had thought about calling it quits, why wouldn’t he have? Hell, on the way over, Tony had been fully expecting to be dumped, so hearing the words shouldn’t have hurt quite as much as it did.

“At some point in my life, I decided I wasn’t the kind of guy who could be in a relationship,” Steve said, the words stilted and uncomfortable. “My dad called bullshit on that, of course, reminded me I used to think the same thing about being a parent.”

As much as he wanted to interrupt Steve to ask if this meant his family knew he was seeing someone, Tony kept his lips zipped and waited for Steve to finish whatever battle he was having with his own mouth.

“Meeting you… it makes me want to believe I was wrong about myself.”

“You weren’t all bad at it, Steve,” Tony felt the need to point out, his heart racing at Steve’s words. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if you weren't worth fighting for.” Steve’s eyes went a bit wide at this, and Tony found himself flushing with embarrassment.

Steve cleared his throat, said, “So, what can I do to make it better?”

“Um, other than not shutting me out?” Steve nodded, and Tony shifted in his seat. “I’d like to be able to spend time with you and your friends. Not, uh, well, look, I’m not expecting to take over your life, or anything, but nobody really enjoys feeling like a dirty secret, right?”

“I wrote that down,” Steve announced, looking proud of himself, so adorably awkward in the moment that it left Tony feeling privileged to being sitting there with him in his kitchen. “We do a New Year's Eve get together at the shop and I wanted to bring you along.”

“Yeah?” Tony couldn’t help the enthusiasm that took over his voice. Yes, he was pathetic, but whatever, Steve had already planned on inviting him somewhere. That was _epic_. “Sounds great. Uh, I was going to California for Christmas, but I can be back for the party. Rhodey might follow me home, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Steve said, “I’d love to meet him.”

“Okay then.” Tony shoved more French Toast into his mouth, trying not to grin around his faceful of food like a total loser. It was starting to sink in, the reality that they might actually be doing this _together,_ just as he’d hoped.

Of course, Steve made him choke a moment later when he tapped his page of notes, took a deep breath, and announced, “I’ve never had sex in a bed.”

“Excuse me?” Tony asked when he could breathe again.

Steve was bright pink, which wasn’t helping any. “You’d, well, thinking back, some of the comments you made, I, uh... I thought I should mention that.”

“This is… okay, good, very good to know, yes. Thank you for telling me,” Tony stammered, his mind whirring away as he thought back over all the fast and furious encounters he and Steve had shared over the past few months. Steve’s assertions about his inexperience suddenly carried far more weight, and Tony’s imagination went haywire.

“I’m assuming—and please, don’t take this the wrong way—that your other relationships, they were more, um—”

“You weren’t supposed to talk about it, but it happened all the time,” Steve interrupted, saving Tony from himself. “Mostly, you worried about getting caught. There were a few different fellas over the years. No one under my command, of course. The first time…” Steve trailed off, eyes lowered as he adjusted his silverware, and Tony held his breath. “I finally _got_ why people wanted to have sex, you know?”

Steve raised his eyes, maybe just to make sure Tony hadn’t disappeared, and it was strange how _young_ he looked in the moment. Tony nodded and Steve lowered his eyes again, his mouth twisting as he struggled to push words out past his lips.

“He was from East Tennessee,” Steve said, a smile there and gone again on his face. “Made fun of _my_ accent, if you can believe it. Called me City Boy.”

And Tony could picture it in his mind, this faceless man from Steve’s past, with his twang, probably covered in freckles and sunburn, hustling Steve somewhere quiet and showing him how much fun it was when you tried sex with someone you were legitimately attracted to. Tony was about to open his mouth, ask for a name, and how long they’d been an item, if they still kept in touch, when the air was knocked out of his lungs.

“He was killed in action later that month, and it was… I didn’t see it happen, but I was… I was still there, and… saw him. _After_. So, ah, it took a couple years before I could bring myself to try again.” Steve’s hands were bunched into fists, the knuckles bright white, and when he looked up, his eyes were shoning with unshed tears, seemed to be pleading for Tony to understand. “God, this sounds awful, but after that, a big part of it for me was _not_ letting myself get attached.”

“I could lie and say I know what that’s like, but I won’t patronize you,” Tony answered, reaching across the table to squeeze Steve’s hand. Slowly, Steve relaxed, and when he turned his hand palm-up so Tony could hold it more easily, there were crescent marks from his fingernails standing out against the skin.

Being used for money, or the power associated with his name was one thing. Tony couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if the person he’d lost his virginity to had gone and gotten killed almost immediately afterwards. And to have to see the aftermath? Devastation sounded about right. Tony wondered if this was the first time Steve had told someone, if he’d been so worried about being outed that he’d been forced into hiding his grief. It was too easy to imagine Steve keeping it to himself, carrying that weight with him each and every time he had to go into combat, or sought a moment’s comfort with another living person.

No wonder Steve was a little all over the place when it came to sex. Tony felt like he was finally getting enough pieces to the puzzle to make some accurate assumptions. Now that he had more context, it was easy to imagine the entirety of Steve’s sexual history after Mr. Tennessee involved handjobs given between missions, or frantic blowjobs in foxholes, if foxholes were still a thing that happened outside of war movies. His tendency to keep most of his clothes on and almost race Tony to an orgasm would have been entirely in keeping with how Steve had needed to handle sex while in the Army, both to avoid getting caught and to protect his own heart from breaking when or if his partner went and got killed.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Tony said.

Steve squeezed his hand. “It’s fine. It was years ago,” he said, as if there was a statute of limitation on grief. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it, except with everything—the way I was treating you—I thought it might be… relevant. I don’t… I know it sounds like bullshit, but honestly, Tony, I didn’t _realize_ what I was doing. And I’m sorry, because I never wanted… I _hate_ how I made you feel.”

“Hey.” Tony tried to shove his heart back down in his chest where it belonged, so he could actually speak again. “I forgive you, okay?” Steve’s thumb brushed across Tony’s knuckles. “Thank you for telling me all this. I know it sucks to talk about this kind of shit, but, Steve, _yes_ , that’s absolutely relevant.”

“Okay.” Steve seemed to relax, which was good, seeing his posture shift away from ramrod straight.

Tony gave him an encouraging smile. “Now I can understand where you’re coming from a little better, so I don’t twist things around in my head.”

“Good,” Steve said, and there was that smile again, the shy, broken smile of Steve’s that absolutely made Tony feel like someone was reaching into his chest to squeeze his heart. “I’m glad I told you, then.”

Tony relaxed, let go of Steve’s hand, so he could play with his food, struggling to find a tactful way to ask the question that was consuming his mind.

“Please don’t think I’m being insensitive, but, am I correct in thinking this means you might have limited experience in certain areas?”

Steve chewed on his lower lip and Tony was willing to bet that was embarrassment he was struggling with, but Steve surprised him again by looking him dead in the eyes, a bit of a challenge in his voice when he answered. “If by ‘certain areas’ you mean anal sex, then yes.”

It was awful, but Tony couldn’t help how thrilled he was by this particular revelation. “Is that something you’d be interested in trying?” he asked innocently.

“With _you_ , yes,” Steve answered, and Tony couldn’t look away from his beautifully determined eyes. “In a bed and everything.”

The last bit caught Tony off guard, his nervous laughter quickly becoming coughing, and blushing, and looking back down at his plate. The idea that Steve might let him be the first was _astounding_. Tony wanted to say fuck it to breakfast and important conversations, drag him into the other room, spread Steve out across a bed. Absolutely _devour_ him. Take him to pieces with his fingers, with his _tongue_ , make Steve moan and soak the sheets in sweat, then fuck him slow and sweet until he came crying Tony’s name.

“I like the sound of that,” Tony said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “But, um, we don’t have to rush anything. I’m happy to wait until you’re ready. Sometimes it’s nice to just be together. Without sex.”

“I’d like that, too.”

Tony smiled and emptied his cup of coffee, feeling oddly giddy. “You asked me earlier, so I’m going to turn the tables. What can I do for you?”

Steve took a deep breath and Tony found himself worried all over again. “The last time we spoke, you mentioned Peter.” And yes, that was fear, absolutely, leaving Tony hanging on every word like he was dangling from a ledge over great and terrible depths. “I’m betting you’re ahead of me in thinking long term where he’s concerned.”

“That if this works out between us, I’d get to be part of his life?” Tony asked carefully, not using words like father or parent. Steve nodded. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, actually.”

“That’s something you’d want?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve seemed surprised by the conviction in Tony’s voice, but he didn’t balk or bristle, thankfully. “Okay, good. I need… well, patience, I guess. Peter is _everything_ , Tony. He’s going to have to be my priority, and that won’t always be easy.”

“Steve, believe me, I one hundred percent understand and I’m willing to wait. I just need to know that you’re considering letting us meet. When you’re ready.”

“I’m terrified I’ll do something to hurt him,” Steve said, his voice thick with emotion. “I know he doesn’t remember, but he’s already lost so much. It‘ll take some time for me to be comfortable introducing you, but I wanted to make sure you knew I was planning on it happening.”

“Thank you,” Tony said, his heart racing. “That’s _really_ good to hear.”

Steve rubbed at his temples and sighed, suddenly appearing far more exhausted than he had a few minutes before. Tony wasn’t surprised; it was the most intimate, honest conversation they’d ever had with each other, and Steve wasn’t exactly practiced at sharing.

“Anything else?”

“This is going to make me sound like an asshole,” Steve answered, and Tony braced himself. “The last time we saw each other, you were pretty hungover.”

“Ah. Let me guess, you took a little trip down memory lane and remembered that the name Tony Stark used to be synonymous with rich boy party trash?”

“You’re not trash, Tony,” Steve said, sitting up straighter and frowning.

Tony wasn’t sure why Steve’s rebuttal made him want to argue the point. “I cleaned the liquor out of the penthouse. Normally, I have this whole one and done when drinking alone policy, but, um, obviously that slipped my mind, so I'm taking a break altogether.”

Steve looked about as comfortable as Tony felt, which was a small consolation. “Do you… Are you worried about relapsing?”

“Are you?”

“I'm willing to trust you if you tell me I shouldn’t worry,” Steve said after spending a solid minute staring at his untouched glass of orange juice. Tony didn't take Steve's usage of the word trust lightly, felt the weight of it. “If I was better at all this you wouldn’t—”

“Hey, I'm the idiot that decided getting drunk and feeling sorry for myself was the best way to handle my problems.” Tony shifted uncomfortably, shame flaring up bright within his chest. “I had other options. The therapy I got while in rehab sort of hammered that idea home.”

“I can't have anything like that around Peter,” Steve said, the gentleness in his voice somehow making it worse. Tony felt like hiding under the table, the weight of his slip up feeling oppressive in a way it hadn't prior.

“No. No, of course not,” he managed.

“I’m not big on drinking, myself. Veterans Day and Memorial Day are the exceptions,” Steve explained, and Tony nodded, eyes focused on the tines of his fork as he tried not to cry. “What I'm trying to say is, you won't have to be around alcohol when we're together. Well, New Year’s will be a mess, but I can let Bucky know ahead of time that you're abstaining as a favor to me, and he'll make sure no one bugs you about it. Thor is… Well, he’s enthusiastic about drinking and tends to fill people’s glasses when they’re not looking.”

Tony looked up, confused and expecting to see the patented look of Steve Disapproval slapped on that handsome face, but it wasn't there. “Okay?”

“Would you tell me if there's anything I can do to make this easier for you?” Steve asked, and Tony released the breath he'd been holding.

“Steve,” he said, needing to get the words out before he lost his nerve. “Please, believe me when I say I would _never_ bring that sort of shitshow around Peter. I grew up with an alcoholic, and the idea of... of subjecting a child to that,” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “I'm fully aware that I fucked up, but—”

“Tony, hey,” Steve interrupted, and suddenly one of Steve's large, warm hands was covering his own. “Stop. It was only a mistake, right? Everyone makes those. Me more than most. The point wasn't to make you feel ashamed; I want to support you. Help, if you wanted or needed any.”

It took Tony longer than it should have to work through the tangled mess of conflicting emotions to respond with a measly, “Yeah?”

“Yes. I care about you, Tony,” Steve said, and Tony felt time grind down to a halt around him, the words leaving him shell shocked. “And I want this to work out.”

Tony must have gotten out of his seat, because otherwise it made no sense that he was around the other side of the table and in Steve's arms. He had no memory of moving, but that wasn't important. All that mattered was the clean, familiar scent of Steve's aftershave and laundry detergent and skin and everything else that made him smell like Steve. The warmth of him, the way Tony could squeeze his eyes shut, press his face into the junction of shoulder and neck and feel safe. Strong arms holding him tight, grounding him, which was good, because Tony felt a little like his legs were made of Jello.

“Hey,” Steve said, rocking him back and forth, and Tony realized that he was _shaking_.

“Sorry, _shit_ , that’s pathetic,” Tony babbled, panic catching him off guard.

“No, it’s pathetic that I made such a mess of things that saying I care surprised you,” Steve rumbled, his grip tightening. He shifted until his mouth was close to Tony’s ear, close enough for his lips to brush against Tony’s skin when he added, “I’m sorry I was such an awful boyfriend.”

 _Fuck_ , Tony had hoped he’d be able to get through the morning without crying, yet  there were the tears, stinging at his eyes. He managed to keep them at bay, but it was a close thing.

“Not all the time,” Tony swore, dragging his lips up along the clean shaven underside of Steve’s jaw. “Sometimes you were _amazing_ , Steve.”

Pushing himself onto his tiptoes, Tony brought his mouth close, leaving it up to Steve to close the distance, which he did without hesitation. Large hands slid up his back and along his neck on the way to cupping his face, and then it was like Tony had traveled backwards in time, was reliving their very first kiss.

Steve’s eyes were bright as their lips brushed, the blue slowly being eaten up by black as his pupils dilated. He made soft, vulnerable noises against Tony’s mouth and held on as if worried someone might try to pull them apart. Tony grabbed a fistful of Steve’s hair, tugged the tiniest bit as he pushed his tongue into Steve’s mouth. Steve groaned, surged forward to meet him, but the intensity of the kiss was contrasted by the gentle, almost reverent stroking of Steve’s fingers along the curve of Tony’s jaw.

Tony could hardly breathe, his chest completely seized up with love, but despite every wonderful, promising thing that had happened that morning, he knew it was too soon for those words.

Steve was the one to end it, his voice deep and ragged when he said, “ _Tony_ ,” and pressed their foreheads together.

“Right, _damn_ , talking, we should finish doing that.” With a groan of frustration, Tony banged his head against Steve’s shoulder a few times, as if that could clear it, prompting Steve to laugh and nuzzle his neck. “Okay, so, recap: we’re both scared, but we care about each other and want it to work out. That’s not so bad, actually.”

“No, not at all,” Steve agreed, managing to rest his chin atop Tony’s head in a way that absolutely should not have made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but did. “You make it seem so easy. Never would have guessed you were scared.”

“Practice, Steve.”

“Right. Uh, so, that reminds me. I know you don’t really have control over it at all,” Steve stammered, and Tony braced himself for impact once again as he stepped outside of the warm circle of Steve's arms. “I’d be lying if I said the idea of showing up in the tabloids was something I was comfortable with.”

Tony exhaled in a rush and scrubbed a hand over his face, groaning to himself. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten that, despite everything, he was of interest to the public. He might not make an ass out of himself partying anymore, but Pepper still had him out pressing palms for charity, and making the occasional press circuit when they needed some showmanship. It was so much calmer than it had been when he was growing up that Tony hardly noticed it anymore, but Steve was private to a fault. Considering Tony still had no idea if Steve’s family knew _who_ he was dating—assuming they even knew he was dating, period—it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had concerns over getting caught on camera.

“Fuck.”

When Tony attempted to spin away for a good pacing session, Steve reached for him, fingers curling around Tony’s elbow to keep him close. “I’m guessing you’ve had enough of that to last you a lifetime, too.”

“Sure,” Tony said, feeling sick to his stomach. “I don’t know if I have anything for this,” he admitted, staring at Steve’s Adam’s apple. “Being in the limelight was kind of a selling point with my exes.”

Steve tucked a finger beneath Tony’s chin, forcing him to look up. “It’s not a deal breaker, Tony. I’m… It worries me, because I’m not sure I’m capable of handling it well.”

Tony could all too easily imagine Steve smashing someone’s camera into dust and giving them the sort of dressing down that led to peeing one’s pants. The tabloids would eat that shit up and only hound him more, and before too long, Tony would be _persona non grata_ in the Rogers household.

“I’ll do my best to keep you away from all that,” Tony said, “and I’ll talk to Pepper, see what she thinks, but I can’t promise someone won’t see us together and snap a photo.” Steve nodded, his expression grim. “If I know Pepper, she’s going to say the best way to deal with it is to control how the news is disseminated to begin with. So, uh, I don’t know. Depending on how things are going, we might want to consider putting it out there on our terms.”

If Steve’s wince was any indication, he absolutely hated that idea. Tony waited for everything to unravel, but Steve only scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck and nodded once. “Right. I suppose that makes sense. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Tony was willing to bet his collection of cars that it’d be a cold day in Hell before Steve asked him to set up a press conference to announce their love to the world, but at least he wasn’t running in the opposite direction. Tony would take it as a victory.

“I’m almost scared to ask, but anything else?”

Steve bit into his lower lip, his cheeks flushing that endearing shade of pink again. “Yes, actually. Your glasses.”

“My _glasses_?” Tony asked, feeling like he was about two steps behind, too distracted by Steve’s blush for his brain to kick over properly.

“Yes, they’re, well,” Steve said, a soft smile working its way onto his face. “I want to say _adorable_ , but you might not appreciate—”

“Adorable?” Tony interrupted, laughing, his nerves still on edge. “They’re the height of nerd-chic, I’ll have you know.”

Steve stopped fighting his smile. “Yes, of course, very chic,” he agreed. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Yeah, I’m a dork from way back,” Tony joked. “I dare you to spend as much time looking at numbers on a screen as I have and not need glasses.”

“They look good on you,” Steve insisted warmly, dragging his thumb along Tony’s jaw. “Feel free to skip the contacts if you want.”

“Good to know,” Tony said, wishing he had them with him. If glasses meant Steve was going to stare at him like _that,_ Tony would happily wear them. “I like seeing your tattoos.”

“What?” Steve laughed.

Tony traced the tiny bit of smoke peeking out from beneath the cuff of Steve’s shirtsleeve. “You spend a lot of time keeping them covered up for someone who runs a tattoo parlor.”

To his surprise, Steve’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. “Do I really?”

“Maybe it’s only around me,” Tony said, feeling like a jackass for having brought it up. Still, he’d always been deeply, almost painfully curious about Steve’s tattoos, and they were supposed to be communicating, so he might as well continue putting his foot in his mouth. “You, uh, you’ve moved my hand before, when I’ve gone to touch one, and you put your shirt back on and got all quiet the time I asked who did most of the work.”

“Natasha,” Steve answered, sounding almost dazed. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

Tony wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty, worried, or both. “Hey, it’s okay. I figured they were personal, and, um, not really my business.”

Steve was still struggling with Tony’s inadvertent revelation, his brows furrowed, lips pressed in a tight line. “Some of them might be hard for me to talk about,” he said after a moment.

Tony doubted Steve was aware of the way he’d reached across his own body, hand pressing against his chest and then his abdomen in quick succession before gripping his left arm. Steve held on as if for dear life, his knuckles white where they were curled around his forearm.

“I understand,” Tony said, tucking his hands into his pockets, trying to appear as casual and nonthreatening as possible.

“I’ll _try_ , though, Tony,” Steve blurted, and Tony wondered how hard that had been for him. Was sort of shocked he was being offered that much, if he was being honest. “Please don’t take it personal. There are a few,” he swallowed, his mouth trembling for just a moment, “I’ve never. They’re representative,” he explained, and Tony wished he hadn’t brought it up. Even sharing this much seemed to be hurting Steve. “No one knows what I see, when I look at them.”

Unable to help himself, Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and pulled him into an embrace, being careful to keep his hands away from the places Steve had tellingly touched when Tony brought up his tattoos. It was a relief when Steve exhaled and slid his arms around Tony’s waist, holding tight.

“It’s okay,” Tony swore, stroking along Steve's back. “Not everything needs to happen at once, right? Maybe, someday, it might make you feel _better_ to talk about them. Until then, I’ll be patient, okay?”

Steve nodded against Tony's shoulder, pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind Tony’s ear, and sighed. “Thanks.”

For a couple minutes, they simply stood together, hugging in Steve’s kitchen while their breakfast grew cold. Tony was exhausted, but somewhere beneath it all was a surprising level of optimism. If they could keep up the momentum, not slide back into old habits, they might actually be alright. Tony was willing to do whatever it took to make things work, but wasn’t stupid enough to not realize that tendency had been a big part of the problem the first time around. He’d need to keep an eye on himself, make sure he wasn’t letting Steve run riot over his heart, or they’d wind up right back where they started.

Still, there they were, two scared individuals who cared about each other and wanted to try to make love work. That counted for something, was enough to make Tony’s heart race, to give him hope. Maybe the next time December sixteenth rolled around, they’d be making Christmas plans with Peter and the rest of Steve’s family, and Tony would remember the date as the start of something wonderful, rather than the anniversary of being orphaned.

It was nice, having hope.

Steve stirred in his arms, glanced at the clock. Tony was surprised to see how much time had passed; it felt like he’d only just arrived. “I have an appointment later, but it isn’t for a couple hours,” Steve said. “I could come to the graveyard with you, if you wanted some company.”

“That would, ah, _shit_ , as much as I’d like that, actually, it’s probably an awful idea. Last year it was a slow news day, or something, because someone was hanging out with a camera, waiting for me.”

Steve had a look on his face that would probably make anyone think twice before snapping a picture. “Vultures.”

“Pretty much, yes,” Tony agreed. “It’s been twenty-one years, you’d think people would be bored with photos of me standing over their graves by now.”

And since it was apparently a day for surprises, Steve went and took a fortifying breath, said, “Maybe next year, then?” Tony could only nod his reply, too scared to try for words. “Did you want to finish breakfast?”

“I should probably get this over with,” Tony admitted, even though he desperately wanted to stay. He’d gambled enough in his life to know it was best to quit while you were ahead. It had been an emotional morning and Steve was looking worn thin. It would probably  do him some good to have time to process before he had to go to work.

“Call me later, then,” Steve suggested, “let me know how you’re doing.”

“Yessir,” Tony agreed. “I appreciate how difficult this must have been for you. Don’t, ah, feel like you have to pretend it’s easy when it’s not.”

Steve nodded, but there was a wry smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” At a loss, Tony shrugged and went to shove one last mouthful of cold French Toast into his face before grabbing his jacket.

“Hey, uh, is it too late to change my mind about Bruce’s birthday dinner?”

Tony was thankful he’d already swallowed, or he might have accidently killed himself choking. “Um, I mean, it’s tomorrow, so, I don’t know—babysitters and all? How long that takes, notice wise? I’m sure Natasha wouldn’t mind, but—”

Steve managed to keep from laughing over Tony’s babbling, which was kind, really, considering how shitty he’d made Tony feel when he’d first extended the invitation. “How about I ask Natasha if she and Bruce would be comfortable with me coming along. If she says yes, I’m sure Bucky and Clint would babysit. Between the two of them, I’m owed about three hundred favors.”

“Yeah, that would be great, actually,” Tony stammered, still only half in his jacket. Remembering he’d been doing that, he finished shrugging it on and then stood there grinning like an idiot.

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later,” Steve said, and kissed Tony’s smile.

“Sounds like a plan.”

And somehow, Tony made it out of the door and down Steve’s stairs, found himself behind the steering wheel of his car again, wide eyed with a racing heart. “What the hell just happened?” he asked himself, rubbing a hand over his face.

If he wasn’t very much mistaken, Steve Rogers had actually gotten onboard with the idea of being Tony’s boyfriend. It was enough to make him wish he believed in any of the more popular deities, so he could pray to them for it to last. Instead, it was going to take hard work from both of them and probably a fair bit of luck. Still, it was _so much better_ than anything he’d expected that Tony decided to live dangerously and let himself be optimistic.

With that in mind, he put on some AC/DC, started up the car, and headed to the graveyard to pay his respects to his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Steve was doing Tony Research in the last chapter, which is why the date of the Stark's deaths is fresh in his mind. 
> 
> 2) On the Subject of Peter: I know there is lingering Peter Birthday Party angst, and "let Tony near your baby already!" feelings. As of this ch. it has been 5 months, 20 days since their 1st date. Many non-PTSD parents would question introducing their child to a boyfriend at this stage in a _healthy_ relationship, let alone 3 months into dating (Peter's bday). Bruce was at the party because Natasha brought him along. There is no risk having Bruce meet Peter. Steve went into full on Overprotective Dad Mode and handled it AWFULLY. Not cool, Steve! Just a heads up that Peter is going to be an ongoing issue for Steve  & Tony. If you read back, you'll see Steve gloss over admitting that Peter SAVED HIS LIFE. Whenever Steve is stressed, he reaches for Peter. Peter has literally been Steve's life preserver. This man didn't leave the kid alone with his trusted, beloved family for A YEAR because of his issues, and only after he was confronted about it. So. I know it doesn't seem like much, but the fact that Tony made Steve question whether or not being Peter's father is enough of a life is EPIC. Re: never thinking of them meeting—Steve has dropped tidbits along the way, but he is full of guilt, and shame, and very much expected this thing with Tony to explode / fizzle out, because of his own shortcomings. So, if he'd already decided this was going to end badly, the last thing he's going to consider is exposing the ONE source of happiness in his life to the fallout of his own shitty relationshipping skills. That being said, Steve has MADE HIS CHOICE, and we'll see him trying very hard, even when he is drowning in his own head. And when Peter & Tony do meet? OMG does that kid love him. :D
> 
> 3) Howard Stark is the worst. Tony will be working on issues of his own in this story, don't you doubt it. 
> 
> 4) I LOVE ALL OF YOU SO MUCH! I can't say that enough. The investment you've all shown in this story, and the love and support (and wonderful screaming) you've all been sharing has been amazingly motivating. Your kudos and comments and tumblr fun = filling my heart with joy. Thank you so much for letting me play with your emotions.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha reminds us of why we should worship at her feet. Steve shows us more of the struggle that is his day to day existence. When you're one of the walking wounded, finding the strength to reach out to another can feel impossible, and more than a bit terrifying. Steve reaches anyway, and Tony doesn't disappoint.

“Why?”

Natasha asked the question without looking up, her eyes glued to the beautiful splash of color she was painting into skin, leaving Steve staring at the top of her head in surprise and confusion.

As if she could see him standing there with his mouth hanging open, Natasha helped him out by adding, “You didn't seem interested the last time you were invited.”

Steve's heart kicked into gear, guilt, irritation, and suspicion fighting it out for dominance.

“Did Tony tell you that?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Didn't have to,” Natasha answered, the tattoo machine clicking off as she wiped at the section of skin she was working on. Blood and ink smeared aside, she dipped her head lower, taking care to examine her work.

Unbidden, Steve thought of the kicked puppy look Tony sometimes wore and felt a little like someone had kicked _him_ , right in the stomach. One look at Tony and Natasha wouldn't have needed anything else, she'd have seen right to the heart of the matter. Bruce’s birthday dinner had been yet another example of Tony trying to include Steve in his life, while Steve kept him at arm’s length.

“You never answered my question.”

Steve opened his mouth, fully intending to explain, or maybe interrogate her about what had been discussed behind his back, but then caught Natasha’s client watching him with interest.

“Let's finish this later.”

Natasha snorted as she fired up the tattoo machine again and set back to work. “Not if you're _actually_ interested in attending. Now or never, Rogers.”

Embarrassment and anger twisted up inside of him, and Steve had to take a moment to unclench his jaw. The words ‘blatant insubordination’ had sprung up and thankfully been caught behind his teeth, Steve feeling especially aware of the metal of his dog tags pressing against his skin. That happened sometimes, odd, fleeting pockets of displacement, like he was back in uniform, could feel the weight of all his gear, of his weapon, and had to look at his civilian clothes and remind himself that he wasn't in the Army anymore.

Natasha was waiting, and as much as Steve wanted to stick to his guns and go for the ‘never’ option out of sheer stubbornness, he remembered the look of surprised delight that had lit up Tony's face that morning when he'd suggested coming along. To have to call Tony up and explain he was backing out because he had refused to answer Natasha’s perfectly valid question wouldn’t be viewed as an auspicious beginning to Steve’s second attempt at a relationship with Tony.

“Fine,” he snapped, giving her client a sharp look. The gentleman in question suddenly found the ceiling to be of particular interest. Steve took a breath and managed not to sound like Peter in a ‘I don’t wanna’ snit when he answered. “The reason I would like to attend Bruce’s birthday dinner is because it will make Tony happy.”

It was the truth, too. Bruce seemed like a nice enough guy, but they hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together. Since Natasha had casually announced Bruce was her Platonic Life Partner, the man had been around more and more, but he and Steve had never had a proper one on one conversation to his recollection. Of course, that might have had something to do with how Steve had been treating Tony. The point was, his desire to attend had little to do with Bruce, and everything to do with Tony.

“Well then,” Natasha said after a moment, finally looking up at him, and now that he was seeing it again, Steve felt as if it had been _ages_ since Natasha had aimed a genuine smile in his direction. “As long as you promise not to be an asshole during dinner, I suppose we'd be glad to have you along.”

Steve could feel his face go hot with embarrassment and once again came close to letting his mouth get ahead of him, but something had clicked over in his brain. To what extent he could not be certain, but Steve was positive Natasha knew what had been going on between him and Tony. If that was the case, he should probably count himself lucky she was entertaining the idea at all.

“Thank you,” he managed to choke out, then surprised himself by laughing, ducking his head and letting the irritation slide away. He was smiling when he looked back up at her. “I'll try to keep the assholery to a minimum.”

“See that you do.” Natasha's mouth pursed in the special little way it did whenever someone had lived up to her expectations, and Steve felt better. “We’ll talk details later.”

Clint was somewhat easier. “This an all nighter?”

Steve felt the back of his neck grow hot and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, should just be a couple hours.”

“You sure? You've been tense as hell lately,” Clint pointed out, taking a long, loud sip from his juice box. “Happy to arrange a sleepover at our place so you two can have hot monkey sex all night.”

Steve wanted to take him up on the offer—god, did he ever want to say yes—as Clint was right about the tension he’d been carrying around. The idea of letting himself become drunk on the sensation of Tony’s skin beneath his fingers was _so very_ tempting. In all honesty, though, sex wasn’t what Steve _actually_ wanted; it certainly wasn’t what Tony needed.

After their morning together, more than anything, what Steve wanted was to go back in time, find some way to right the wrongs he’d committed. Since time travel wasn’t an option, he’d have to settle for following his father’s advice, and learning from his mistakes. He wasn’t looking forward to the dinner because it meant a chance to get Tony out of his clothes. Just being in his presence sounded kind of amazing at the moment, considering how close Steve had come to losing the privilege.

“Maybe another time,” Steve answered, watching Clint shrug and snap off a salute. “Thanks, Hawkeye.”

With that taken care of, Steve fired off a text to Tony, letting him know they were on for dinner, then set up his station for the first appointment of the day. Despite being excited about the piece he was working on, Steve’s head was filled with thoughts of Tony, feelings fluctuating wildly, leaving him exhausted by the time he was done for the day and meant to pick up Peter.

There was relief, naturally, as well as terror and disbelief. Guilt still sat heavily within his chest, uncomfortable, yet oddly comforting in its familiarity. He had more than enough guilt to keep it company, after all.

Steve could still vividly remember an evening spent watching ridiculous action films with Clint and Bucky. He’d only been out of the Army about a month, was bivouacked in the couple’s living room until he secured a permanent residence. Steve kept their place neat and tidy, and bought groceries by way of compensation, went for extra long runs and location scouting trips for the shop, or lied and said he had somewhere to be so they’d have some alone time together. Even with that, there was more than one occasion he’d found himself heading to the roof with his sketchbook and a mug of hot chocolate during the night when the soft, hushed enough sounds of sex drifted through the tiny apartment.

For Steve, those first few months of life post-Army seemed a little like a dream, surreal in ways he’d never expected, or would have been able to prepare himself for. For a start, he had to keep reminding himself that it was no longer his job to keep Hawkeye and his brother out of trouble, or his place to interrupt their playful bickering, or the rough housing.

Looking back, Steve wasn’t sure how he’d missed that Clint and Bucky’s behavior was actually poorly disguised flirting—or how _they’d_ managed to think it was anything else, for that matter—but apparently Natasha was the only one in the group with any sense.

So there was _that_ as well, the strange new reality of Clint cooking breakfast with Bucky wrapped around him, staying glued to his back as they wandered around the kitchen together, his brother’s eyes closed and a smile on his face as he pressed kisses against the nape of Clint’s neck. Or Clint with his head in Bucky’s lap, or the two of them making out halfway through a debate on which _Star Trek_ captain would win an arm wrestling match, or seeing Clint walking around wearing Bucky’s clothes.

Being around them would have been strange enough if that was the extent of things, but as an added bonus, Bucky had yet to receive the SI prosthetic. The absence of his arm _consumed_ Steve, was constantly catching him off guard, shaking his foundations. Somehow, it was a thousand times worse than when Bucky had been in the hospital. Maybe it was the setting, the understanding that _this_ was reality, was the rest of his brother’s life, and there was nothing Steve could do to make it better.

Steve still wasn’t sure how he survived those early days. Everything had either felt too real, or like he was in a dream, the lack of sleep not helping matters any. He spent long, lonely hours running through the city until his lungs burned, or hitting the gym until his body grew so exhausted that he didn’t have much choice in the matter, would collapse in a heap and find a few hours of nothingness, if he was lucky. Anything was better than the nightmares, even waking up on one memorable occasion to find his brother standing naked in the living room with a gun in his remaining hand, looking for intruders, a side effect of having been woken by Steve’s screaming.

On the night in question though, they were sitting together on the couch, Bucky slouched low, tucked under Clint’s arm with his feet up on the coffee table. He was wearing a hoody, the empty sleeve tied up in knots, and using Clint’s thigh as an armrest. By contrast, Steve sat almost ramrod straight and gaped at the screen, unable to keep his mouth shut, feeling the need to point out how the movie seemed to lack the basic understanding of a blast radius, or ricochet, or that guns ran out of bullets and required reloading. It left him confused as to how his fellow soldiers could tolerate such a misrepresentation of reality, especially one they had an intimate familiarity with.

At some point, one of the characters found themselves trapped in a flooding room, kicking and paddling and searching for an exit. For long, tense moments, the character shivered in the water, face tilted upward as they broke the surface, sucking in air, panic writ across their features as they waited for rescue.

Steve had fallen silent, not because the scene had been well acted—it hadn’t—but because it had immediately left him feeling a sense of kinship with the poorly developed secondary character. He’d never been trapped in a flooding room, but if you replaced the water with guilt and panic and confusion and horror and outright despair, then Steve felt like it was a pretty decent representation of how he felt most days; a desperate, hopeless struggle to keep his head above water.

The other glaring difference was that no one was coming to his rescue.

The mental image had stuck with Steve over the years, becoming rich with detail in his mind as he took it on as his own. It was less a room now, and more a freestanding cell that had been constructed inside of another building. In his mind, the walls had become glass for observational purposes, and there were drains in the floor, pipes in the ceiling, some madman at the controls, amusing himself by watching Steve attempt to cope with the reality of his situation.

At first, Peter’s arrival had been like the room emptying enough that he once again had access to the rusty cot and soaked mattress, could flop down and pass out, let his aching muscles rest for a while. It hadn’t lasted, of course. The room filled again, slowly and in bursts, so that it almost took Steve by surprise when he realized he could no longer stand and had to start paddling again to stay afloat.

Day after day after day, the water raised and lowered, raised and lowered, leaving him exhausted, tormented. There were times when the idea of just letting himself slip beneath the surface was so tempting that the Steve Rogers out in the real world would have to find Peter, wrap him up in his arms, hold him for hours and hours. Back when he'd first become a father, Steve would cling to Peter under the guise of comforting the recently orphaned boy. It was like holding onto life itself, his son serving as the best possible reminder of what Steve was fighting for in the first place.

The morning he’d spent with Tony had felt a lot like someone finally draining that room, leaving him with his feet on solid ground again for the first time in ages. In his mind, Steve had flopped down onto the cot, struggling to breathe normally—much like he’d done all throughout his childhood—limbs heavy with overuse, his drenched uniform clinging to him, one booted foot hanging off the bed so the sole could connect with the ground. And yet, already, the bastard at the controls was turning the water back on, so that it sprayed down in short, controlled bursts. Not much, not yet, but enough to remind him that it was foolish to relax, to let your guard down.

Steve’s phone vibrated, dragging him back to reality, the momentary panic that something was wrong with Peter washed away by the realization that it was a message from Tony. Despite everything, a smile tore across Steve’s face, relief and hope catching him by surprise. It had only been a week, but that had been plenty of time to recognize the very real hole left behind by Tony’s absence.

As with most things involving their relationship, it wasn’t until he’d had his face rubbed in it that Steve recognized what was happening. Opening his door that morning, his breath had been taken away, while his heart lurched wildly in response to the sight of Tony. What a fucking idiot he’d been, thinking he’d be able to walk away from what Tony was offering. Steve was thankful he’d already come to the right decision, was ready to accept the second chance on offer, because there was no way he could imagine being able to say goodbye for good.

And here he was again, warmth flooding through his chest from nothing more than a few words on a screen, simply because they were a reminder that he hadn’t ruined everything after all; Tony was still a part of his life.

For the first time ever, Steve excused himself and pulled off his gloves, sent a quick reply to let Tony know he was with a client and it’d be another two hours or so before he was in a position to properly chat, but that he’d let Tony know as soon as he was done. Then he got back to work. Before, he’d always let the messages accumulate over the course of the day, saving them up for when he had a moment, never once thinking of Tony somewhere on the other end of the conversation, possibly anxious as he awaited a reply.

Just that brief bit of contact, seeing his screen flash with a reply, which was nothing more than a smiley face wearing glasses next to emoji for three cups of coffee and a thumbsup, was enough to leave Steve feeling as if the water had been turned off again. It wouldn’t last—it never did—but for now, he could enjoy the respite.

“How’d it go?” Steve asked later that night, longing for the days of bulky telephone receivers. They were so much easier to hold in place with your shoulder.

Tony sighed. “Well as can be expected, I guess. As predicted, someone was snapping photos.”

“I’m sorry, that can’t be easy,” Steve said, wiping his hands on the dishtowel. “Hold on a sec—Peter, wash your hands for dinner—you’d like to think they could show some basic human decency and let you grieve in private.”

“Ahh, see, you’re assuming they’re human,” Tony answered, a smile in his voice. “I have it on good authority that they’re actually alien lizards wearing human disguises.”

“That would make more sense at least.”

Tony chuckled and Steve closed his eyes, tried to summon the feeling of Tony in his arms, as he heard him ask, “So, ah, sounds like everything is good for tomorrow, then?”

“Mm hm. Natasha filled me in on the details.”

That hadn’t been the only thing Natasha had stopped by to discuss. Steve had taken a break for lunch and found himself cornered in the office, Natasha’s eyes flashing dangerously. “I’ll say this once; I consider Tony a friend. Don’t think my love for you will keep me from acting accordingly if you hurt him again.”

Which had rather emphatically confirmed Steve’s suspicions as to what Natasha did and did not know about his personal life. Steve took a deep breath, swallowed, and nodded. “I hope you know I wasn’t… I never meant to hurt Tony.”

Natasha studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment, her eyes softening. “You of all people should have known better,” she said, and Steve felt as if he’d been doused with cold water. “Just to ward off any potential misunderstandings, Tony isn’t a gossip, and I’m no agony aunt, but I don’t need the gory details to recognize when someone’s being mistreated.”

Steve wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, but luckily Natasha spared him, her hand there and gone again, fingertips pressing against his chest, right above his heart. “Don’t be stupid this time. Tony’s _good_ for you.” She held his gaze for a moment, then added, quieter, “You’re allowed to be happy, Steve.”

“I know.”

With a sigh, Natasha left him to his sandwich, which Steve no longer wanted to eat, what with the way his heart was racing and his hands shaking. It wasn’t fear of Natasha, it was everything _else_ pressing in on him, sucking all the air out of the room. What if, despite trying his hardest, he still made a mess of things and hurt Tony? What if he did everything right and Tony _still_ decided he was better off without Steve in his life? And for reasons he couldn’t explain, it was just as terrifying attempting to imagine a scenario in which he and Tony and Peter lived happily ever after together.

“Bruce made me promise not to do anything extravagant for his birthday,” Tony said, dragging Steve back into the moment. “Alas, we’re not having dinner in Paris, but there’ll still be butter and cream in the food.”

“It’ll be tough, but I’m sure we’ll survive somehow.”

Tony chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Okay. Well, sounds like you’re trying to get dinner on the table for the little guy, so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Pick you up around six-thirty?”

“Sounds good,” Steve agreed, disappointment creeping in at the thought of hanging up. “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too. See you then, Steve.”

Tony’s voice had gone all low and intimate, leaving Steve feeling like a jackass, standing there blushing in his kitchen. “Bye, Tony.”

“Daddy, who’s Tony?”

The question, asked as it was in Peter’s little voice, caught Steve entirely by surprise, so much so that he almost dropped his phone in a bowl of tomato soup. Peter was already in his seat, swinging his legs back and forth as he waited for an answer.

“Um, he’s a really good friend of mine.”

Steve shoved the phone in his pocket and busied himself with serving dinner, shoulders slumping in defeat when his answer prompted another question.

“Have I met him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Taking a deep breath, Steve reminded himself that Peter’s insatiable and natural curiosity was a _good_ thing. While he was busy attempting to come up with an appropriate answer, Peter barreled on, asking, “Is Tony in the Army?”

The question shouldn’t have left him feeling sick to his stomach, but it did. “No, he’s a scientist.” Peter’s eyes went wide and Steve wished he’d stopped after the _no,_ but since it was obvious Peter had a thousand questions, maybe he should stop panicking, and view it as an opportunity. “Tony’s the one who made your Uncle Bucky’s arm.”

If he’d perked up at the news that his father was friends with a scientist, this revelation without a doubt blew Peter’s little mind. “He made Uncle Bug’s arm?” Peter screeched, dropping his grilled cheese sandwich and standing up on his chair. “Daddy!”

“Before you get too excited, I have no idea how he made it, how it really works, how long it took, or pretty much anything. You’ll have to ask Tony,” Steve explained, holding up his hand to halt the impending flow of questions. “I’ll bring him over someday. Maybe if you ask real nice he’ll tell you all about it.”

Steve pointed at the chair, smiling as Peter scrambled to sit back down. “Can’t we call him?”

“Nope, he's very busy.”

Peter's eyes narrowed. “With science and making arms, and stuff?”

“Yes.” Peter frowned, his little lower lip jutting out theatrically, prompting Steve to stifle a smile. “Hey, your favorite uncles are coming over to hang out with you tomorrow.”

“Is Lucky coming?” Peter asked, snatching up his sandwich.

“I'll ask Clint to bring him.”

As far as diversions went, that worked rather well, so Steve was able to get through the rest of the evening without any further interrogation. Still, there was something altogether _terrifying_ about hearing Peter talk about Tony, although Steve had no idea why that should be the case.

Later, when it was quiet and he was unable to fall asleep, Steve pulled out his sketchbook, flipped through the pages, fighting off a blush as he studied drawing after drawing of Tony. Now that he was paying attention, Steve couldn't help but notice that most of them were downright pornographic, served as another glaring example of the ways in which he'd objectified Tony.

With a sigh, Steve went to his closet and dragged out a trunk containing almost everything he'd accumulated while in the Army. There were more sketchbooks inside, and with a heavy heart he pulled one free at random, flipping through until he found himself laughing when a sheet of paper fell out.

The book was filled with tattoo designs from way back when Natasha first taught them the art form, the loose sheet in question covered with Clint’s drawings. Steve grinned down at the little cartoon angel and devil versions of Hawkeye that Bucky had insisted upon having done the second he saw them. Clint had been terrified he was going to make a mess of things, as Bucky was his first human test subject—those were Bucky's words, not Clint’s—but they'd actually turned out great, even if the results were nowhere near the level of quality work Clint did these days, or even recognizable as his style.

But Steve could still remember them spending the evening laughing together while watching it happen, Bucky smiling more than anyone, even as he complained and threatened to tattoo Clint's forehead if he fucked things up. At the end of the evening, Bucky had shown them off with pride, and after that night, whenever he did something that had Steve ready to pull his hair out, he’d tilt his head to the left and say, “Blame the devil on my shoulder, Stevie, I’m just following orders.”

Now, only the angelic version of Clint remained, the little devil having been lost along with the rest of the tattoos on Bucky's arm, including the ink version of the Howling Commandos patch, which had been the first tattoo Steve had given someone. Remembering left Steve rocking on his heels, the sorrow thick enough to choke him. With a deep, shaky breath, he tucked the notebook back where it belonged, nestling the sketchbook full of his homemade Tony pornography in beside it, then padlocked the trunk and put it away.

Steve snapped a photo of the drawings, then sent it to Clint along with the message, “Look what I found,” in case Clint wanted them back.

That taken care of, Steve dug up an unused sketchbook and started drawing, filling a few of the pages with images of Tony, the sort that wouldn't require an adult content warning. Mostly, he tried to capture the little moments of happiness he'd seen on Tony's face while they'd been together that morning.

Somewhere along the way, Steve found himself glancing at his phone again and again, until finally he snapped, picked it up, and held his breath.

“Y’ello?” Tony murmured, sounding half asleep.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up.”

There was some sort of noise on the other line, followed by cursing, and the sound of something crashing to the ground. “No, that's fine, I'm up. I was up. Already. Hi, Steve.”

Steve felt like he could get air into his chest again, all in a rush, and laughed softly. “Tony, it sounds a lot like I woke you up. Go back to sleep, I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Hey, no,” Tony said, sounding far more alert. “No hanging up. Something was on your mind when you called. What's up?”

“I… I learned how tattoo from Natasha,” Steve confessed, his heart beating very fast. “She taught Clint, too. Bucky wanted to learn, but he couldn't draw worth a damn, so he volunteered to be tattooed instead.”

And because he was wonderful, Tony didn't act surprised, confused, bothered, or any of the reactions you might expect to someone calling at—Steve glanced at the clock and winced—2:23 in the morning to share a seemingly random fact about their past.

“No shit? So, you learned while you were in the Army, or was this after?”

Steve closed up his notebook, set it on the bedside table along with the pencil, and sat back against his pillows. “While in the Army. Before I outranked her, although I still did tattoos for people after. We all did, except Bucky.”

“Please tell me your brother has some sort of amazingly good—but bad—but _good_ back piece,” Tony said, sounding wide awake and excited, “like all of you as dogs playing poker.”

For a brief moment, Steve could see it vividly in his mind, and burst out laughing, the sound almost torn out of him, bringing an odd, bubbling sort of happiness along with it. “Tony, no, you don't understand,” Steve managed between laughs, “he would have gone for that, absolutely! Damn, and he just finished his back, too, so I can't try to talk him into it now.”

Tony was giggling in his ear, while Steve wiped at his eyes. “I don't think I've ever heard you laugh like that,” Tony said, his voice warm and cautious.

With a sigh, Steve shifted around, turned off the bedside lamp, and stretched out. “It's been a while.”

“I like the sound of it. I'm glad you didn't hang up, or I'd have missed out, and that would have been a shame.”

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Tony. Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

There was a pause, then, “You're welcome,” said softly and with feeling. “It was an emotional sort of day. Things catching up with you?”

“A little,” Steve admitted, staring into the darkness. “Natasha gave me a shovel talk today.”

“Shit. I'm sorry, she shouldn't have—”

“Tony, stop. I _earned_ it,” Steve interrupted. “I treated you… Well, I'm still ashamed of how I behaved.”

“Oh.”

“You deserve better, Tony.”

“Steve, that's—”

“Natasha told me I’m allowed to be happy,” Steve continued, “and I should have… She doesn't say stuff like that for no reason, so she must think… God, I don't know. I don't know, Tony, but the idea of it sounds…”

Steve struggled for the words, but nothing was there, and so all that came out was a noise of frustration. Tony cleared his throat on the other end of the phone, and Steve held his breath.

“Alien?” Tony offered.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, relief washing in to take the place of feeling inept.

Tony sighed. “I have this thing where I convince myself that my feelings are less valid than other people's. I make all sorts of justifications in my head, like, I'm rich, so I should shut the fuck up, right? You don't get to complain about being sad if you can afford to buy an island.”

Steve swallowed, said, “That sounds unfair. And isolating.”

“Yeah,” Tony said on an exhale. “It is, absolutely. And sure, there are a lot of people who would agree with the mindset, but that doesn't… It's still some rule I made for myself in my own head, you know? The only person enforcing it is _me_.”

Heart racing, Steve rolled onto his side, and tucked a pillow under his arm, held it close to his chest. Tony’s words had struck a chord. “Right.”

“When I met Rhodey, it was, shit, maybe two years before I finally realized I'd made a friend. A real one, I mean. He didn't want me to bankroll anything, or fuck him, or get him a cushy job—he just wanted to be my friend.” Tony sighed again, and Steve unclenched his fists at the idea of Tony having sex to keep people around, the shame flaring up bright within his chest again. “I didn't know what to do, because if Rhodey wasn't sticking around for a big payoff… No one had done that before. I had no idea how to handle something like that.” There was the sound of rustling, like Tony was shifting in bed, before Steve heard, “Anyway, this is some convoluted way of saying I get how intimidating good feelings can be when you're not used to them.”

“Everyone makes it seem so easy,” Steve said once he trusted his voice.

“Maybe it is for some people. Not for everyone, though. It's scary, and—”

“Alien,” Steve finished, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Right.” Tony yawned, and Steve felt a pang of guilt.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” Steve said, voice going soft. “But, um, thanks. For listening. And sharing. That… it means a lot, Tony.”

“You sure? I don't mind staying up.”

“I should try to sleep, too,” Steve admitted, feeling as if he finally could. “I have a date with my boyfriend tomorrow. He’s something special, so I don’t want to drift off in the middle of dinner, make him think I’m not interested.”

Tony laughed and Steve could picture the shy little smile he sometimes wore. “That _would_ be kind of lame, Rogers. I've got a date myself, so, sleep isn't the worst idea.”

“Well, whoever the lucky fella is, make sure he treats you right,” Steve said. “You’re too remarkable to settle, Tony. He should give you the world, and then some.”

“This guy’s pretty remarkable himself,” Tony answered, a tremble to his voice. Steve wished they were in the same room, so he could see Tony’s eyes. “Not sure he realizes how much better my life already is for having met him.”

God, and that Tony could say that, could _think_ it even, after everything Steve had done was extraordinary, left him humbled, and struggling against tears. “Tony,” and he took a moment, just enough to get his breath, to let the conviction settle into his chest. “I’m still scared shitless, but I’m not going anywhere. I don’t… I don’t think I even realized how much I wanted this, _you_ , in my life, until... Well, I guess what I’m saying is, I’m so fucking glad it wasn’t too late.”

“Wow, okay,” Tony tittered, and Steve had a moment’s panic where he thought Tony was laughing _at_ him, but he squashed it; Tony had never done anything but be supportive. When he spoke again, Tony’s voice was choked up, but he sounded happy at the same time. “Whew, sorry. Needed a second. See? There we go. One of those ‘what do I do with these good feelings’ moments in action.”

“I’m in good company, then,” Steve answered, smiling in the darkness of his room.

“We’re scared _together_ , remember?” Tony said. “We should get matching t-shirts or something, make it an official club.”

“Mm, people might want to join if they saw you wearing it,” Steve pointed out. “I’d like to keep membership exclusive.”

“Right, good point,” and he could hear the smile in Tony’s voice.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” Steve added, because fear was the only reason not to say it out loud. Since they were in an exclusive club it seemed stupid and selfish to keep his mouth closed.

Tony babbled in response. “Me too. Seeing _you_ , I mean, not myself. I see me all the time, too much maybe. The number of reflective surfaces in this stupid penthouse leads me to believe Pepper thinks I’m a narcissist.”

Steve laughed, said, “Tony,” in adfectionate admonishment, but Tony barreled on with, “No, seriously, I’m having an epiphany over here, Steve. I’ll wait until she gets into the white wine at Christmas and ask if one of those thousands of sheets of paper I’ve signed over the years gave her access to my psych evaluations.”

“Leave poor Pepper alone,” Steve said, “she loves you.” Tony laughed nervously, muttering something that sounded like, “Fine,” as he yawned again. “Hey, sleep, remember? I’ll see you tomorrow, Tony.”

“Goodnight, Steve,” Tony murmured, and Steve closed his eyes. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too,” he responded with conviction. “Goodnight.”

Steve stared at his phone for a couple minutes after the call disconnected, then set his alarm, stripped down to his boxers, and got under the blankets. Sleep seemed attainable in a way it hadn’t before, and as he drifted down into the darkness, his mind summoned imagery of himself sprawled out across the rusty cot, eyes closed, the water thankfully nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments I've been seeing on this story? You're blowing my minds, people. So many of you have been on one or the other side of a similar situation, or have spoken of re-thinking relationships / wanting to have serious, deep dialogues with a significant other. I just want to take a moment to virtually hug you all. It probably comes across in the story, but I've been there, too, my friends. I've sort of become addicted to these terrifying, important conversations as a result, because they've changed my life for the better. The only conversations of this nature I regret are the ones I've never had.
> 
> Peter knows Tony exists! This is a big deal. And look at Steve, actually DOING THE THING. In case it isn't clear, he's made his choice, and is very much trying. Meanwhile, despite everything going on, let's take a moment to appreciate how cute Clint and Bucky are. There is already a completed side story for them set in this universe that'll show up a little later. :D
> 
> As always, I love you all, and feel free to scream with me. http://finely-honed.tumblr.com and/or http://dezinformatsia.tumblr.com.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to cope with a surplus of good feelings for a change. Steve shows us how seriously he took their Big Conversation by continuing to step up his boyfriend game. More importantly, Rhodey is in town! And he and Tony might be rolling around on Pepper's kitchen floor together like the mature adults they totally are.

 

Working up the courage to confront Steve hadn't been easy, or painless. The stress and anxiety Tony experienced leading up to their big talk hadn't exactly been a picnic, either, but the payoff? Tony was without a doubt  _ecstatic_ about the changes he was witnessing in Steve, from their late night phone call to Steve's reaction upon Tony's arrival the night of their dinner with Nat and Bruce. He'd been literally swept off of his feet and into Steve's arms. The night was surreal all around, the hug segueing into Steve cupping his face, smiling down at him, his eyes brimming with affection when he said, “You wore the glasses.”

Tony needed to kiss him after that, stood on his tiptoes to brush his lips against Steve's, again and again, lingering and sweet, while Steve stroked Tony's cheeks with his thumbs. And, unlike so many times before, Steve left it at that, seemed to be content with sharing the almost chaste kiss.

There were some uncomfortable moments during the start of dinner, but then Steve relaxed, realized Natasha and Bruce weren't planning on using their cutlery to make a point about how inappropriate his behavior had been. Once the initial awkwardness was out of the way it was lovely, was like stepping into some strange alternate reality where he and Steve were just two normal, well adjusted people out for dinner with friends.

Steve had been quiet at times, but he'd radiated an active listening vibe that Tony appreciated, obviously still with them at the table, not off somewhere in his head, brooding. He'd asked Bruce about his research, extended an invite to the New Year’s bash at the shop, then earned about a thousand Boyfriend Points when he announced to the table how much he was looking forward to meeting Rhodey.

Best of all, the evening had been filled with tiny moments of connection, all of them initiated by Steve, as if he wanted to make certain Tony was still there. Stretching his arm out to rest along the back of Tony's chair, squeezing Tony's knee under the table, or leaning closer so that their shoulders were pressed together. On the way out, Steve had first taken him by the hand, but then opted to sling an arm around Tony's shoulders instead, a contented little smile on his face as they walked to the car, chatting about what a nice night it was.

He'd half expected Steve to pounce once they were alone together, but instead, when they got back to Steve's and he parked the car, Tony had been on the receiving end of another one of those slow, sweet kisses. Tony had happily lost himself to the sensation, until he caught purposefully exaggerated movement out of the corner of his eye. The shiny metallic hand miming jerking off was kind of hard to ignore.

“Your brother is watching us.”

Steve pulled away, his brow furrowed for the first time that evening, tongue darting across his lower lip before he turned and looked out the window. Bucky was standing out front, lewd hand gestures abandoned, leaning against the front door with a cigarette dangling from his lip. He sent a little salute in their direction once he knew Steve was watching.

Tony braced himself for irritation or a hasty goodbye, but instead Steve laughed. “Did you want to shoot the shit for a couple minutes before heading home?”

“Sure,” Tony answered before his nerves could get the best of him. It was silly considering he'd met Bucky before, but the circumstances had changed rather drastically between then and now.

“I thought you quit,” Steve called as soon as he was out of the car.

Bucky grinned and dropped the smoke, grinding it under a boot. “Calm down, Stevie. I let myself have two a day, which is a hell of a lot better than two packs, right?”

Steve seemed unimpressed. “It’s still a disgusting habit.”

Tony settled into place at Steve's side, his nerves not going anywhere as Bucky eyeballed him, but the tension dissipated somewhat when Steve's brother pushed himself away from the door, extending a hand to shake. “Hey, Tony, how ya been?”

“Not bad,” he answered, smiling one of his very best smiles as Bucky squeezed his hand, then clapped him on the shoulder in a comradely sort of way. There wasn't even any of the macho posturing crap of trying to crush Tony's hand in his; if anything, Bucky appeared thrilled to see him, which was confusing.

“Peter in bed?” Steve asked, staring up at the building as if he could see through the brick and mortar.

“Yeah, dad, he's all snug as a bug.” Bucky turned to face Tony, rolled his eyes while Steve was still distracted. “Lucky’s snuggled down with him. And before you ask, we didn't let him stay up late, or give him candy, or nothin’. Clock ticked over to seven and the kid ran off to brush his teeth without us even askin’, got in his jammies, then Petey read Clint and Lucky a bedtime story and everything.”

Steve gave his brother a playful shove. “Thanks, Buck.”

“I'm just proud of ya for not sending me texts all night checking in,” Bucky said, his tone reflecting the aforementioned pride. Tony didn't miss the way Steve tensed up beside him, as he ducked his head and took a deep breath, his jaw working a bit.

“I trust you to keep him safe, Buck,” Steve said after a moment. The suddenness of the solemnity in Steve's voice made Tony feel like he should excuse himself, offer the brothers some privacy for the conversation. There was a lot more going on than what was being said. Even Bucky seemed caught off guard, his eyes going wide at Steve’s words.

While Tony scrambled for something less emotionally charged to discuss, Bucky cleared his throat, then slapped Tony on the shoulder again, something approaching a manic grin on his handsome face. “By the way, your man Tony here was the hot topic for the night.”

“Wait, what?” Tony blurted, his heart racing for conflicting reasons.

When Steve said he was planning on letting Tony and Peter's worlds collide, it had sounded like a down the line situation. Tony was desperate to meet Peter, but even before witnessing the brotherly exchange he’d picked up on the fact that Steve was overprotective where his son was concerned. It was hard to imagine a scenario where Steve appreciated Bucky telling Peter that his dad was out on a date, or who he was on said date with. Or, maybe it was only that Tony could still conjure up the crisp note of finality in Steve’s voice back when he’d oh so tactlessly reminded Tony that Peter didn’t need borthday presents from total strangers. Either way, to Tony it felt like Bucky had stepped on a conversational landmine.

“Why am I not surprised?” Steve didn't sound shocked or upset, which was promising. “Sorry, Buck, I should have known he’d bombard you with questions.”

Bucky's lopsided smile paired nicely with the pride still visible in his eyes. “Kid only has about a thousand of ‘em. Wanted me to call Tony, then tried to get me to call _you_ to get Tony's number when I said I didn't have it.”

Tony looked between the brothers, at a complete loss but scared to ask for clarification. Steve gave him a shy, almost apologetic smile. “I might have told him you were the scientist who made Bucky's arm,” Steve explained. “To say he was impressed is putting it mildly.”

It took every ounce of Tony's self control to not cheer in triumph— _Peter knew he existed_! Tony opened and closed his mouth a few times, scrambling for an appropriate response, convinced he looked like a crazy person. He had a couple questions of his own for Steve, but couldn’t exactly ask them in front of Bucky.

“Well, if he ever wants his mind truly blown, we can arrange a tour of the cooler parts of SI,” Tony said, staring down at his shoes for a moment, needing to get his bearings. “Hey, if Bruce plays along, I can have Research and Development convinced he’s a new hire for at least a couple hours.”

Bucky snorted, then tipped his head in the direction of the door. “Alright. I better head up. Clint was eyeing the last slice of pizza, even though I called dibs.” Bucky winked at his brother, then added, “Good seeing you again, Tony.”

“Yeah, likewise,” Tony answered, still feeling as if there was no ground beneath his feet.

Steve moved to follow his brother, but held the door open and remained at the bottom of the stairs, calling, “I’ll be up in a minute,” as he tugged Tony into the stairwell after him.

“You told Peter about me,” Tony blurted as soon as the door closed behind Bucky, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Well, he knows you’re my really good friend,” Steve clarified, sounding sheepish. “I might have said you’d tell him how Bucky’s arm works if he asks real nice.”

“Sure, anytime,” Tony gushed. “You know me, I like to talk. I wasn’t kidding about the tour, either.”

“Let's just leave off the bit with Research and Development,” Steve said, taking a step closer, so that Tony had to tip his head upward to maintain eye contact. “Peter will want the job and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tony nodded in reply, because what was there to say to that? Hearing Steve talk about him and Peter in the same conversation felt _monumental_ , especially coupled with what was going on in Steve’s eyes. There was a whole lot of affection being projected his way and Tony wanted to bask in it, just roll around sighing, which was kind of pathetic, even if it felt wonderful.

Steve settled his hands at the small of Tony’s back, pulled him in close. “I had a nice time tonight,” he said, the serious delivery of this news contrasting oddly with the playful smile Steve was wearing.

“Me too,” Tony answered before kissing Steve again. He didn’t have a choice, really, he was only human.

Steve sighed against his mouth, capturing his upper then lower lip, teasing and tender. Tony shivered at the feeling of Steve’s hand curling around the nape of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. Tony pressed closer, wanting the warmth and solidity of Steve’s body against his own. It was like no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get close enough, and maybe Steve felt the same, because he lifted Tony off of the ground again, so that he was kissing up into Tony’s mouth.

With a soft laugh, Steve set Tony back down, appearing self conscious over the manhandling. His lower lip was all plush, his cheeks flushed, hair a bit messed up from where Tony had been playing with it. Beautiful was a word that came to mind when looking at him, to the extent that Tony could have happily spent the rest of his life staring dopily at Steve in the stairwell. Since that wasn’t feasible, he opted to kiss Steve's cheek, instead, and then the underside of his jaw.

“Goodnight, Tony,” Steve said, all up against his ear, hugging him one last time before heading upstairs. “Send a text to let me know you got home safe.”

Leaving had been difficult, but Tony had managed somehow. He might also have cranked the sound system and sang his way home, making certain to obey the speed limits and everything, so he wouldn’t feel guilty if Steve went and asked him about it later.

Still grinning on the elevator ride up to his penthouse, Tony fished out his phone to confirm his safe arrival for Steve, and found a message waiting for him from Natasha.

 _Whatever you said seems to have worked._ _Can't remember the last time I saw him so relaxed._

And there was independent confirmation that Tony was not losing his mind, nor deluding himself, apparently. Steve Rogers was officially behaving like an _actual_ boyfriend, which was so outstanding that it bordered on being terrifying.

He kept waiting for the freak out, or for Steve to go all cold and detached on him, but instead, Tony had been surprised at every turn. Steve had even volunteered to adjust his schedule so they could have lunch together at Tony's place before he headed to California, managing to completely upend Tony's grasp on reality by presenting him with a letter from Peter.

_Dear Mister Stark,_

_Thank you for my uncle’s arm! I love him and his special arm very much. I like space and animals and robots the best. I want to learn science so I can build the things for the world to make everyone better and happy and so I can talk with my friend Lucky. He is a dog._

_Your friend,_

_Peter_

Tony exhaled shakily. “Holy shit, Steve, this is amazing.”

Some of the letters were backwards, and in places the words sloped across the paper at alarming angles, but they were all carefully formed, as if each and every one had been a painstaking effort. Tony blinked back tears while grinning at the accompanying drawing of Peter holding hands with Bucky on one side and Lucky the dog on the other. Peter had to have spent _hours_ working on it, going so far as to use aluminum foil for his uncle’s arm. Hands down it was the best gift anyone had ever given Tony.

“That was all him,” Steve swore. “He wrote and rewrote the letter about a dozen times before getting everything the way he wanted.”

“Wow, okay,” Tony said reverently, “these are getting framed. Please, _please_ tell him I love it.”

“I will.”

Tony re-read the letter, unable to stop smiling and not particularly caring. Considering the way Steve was beaming with pride, Tony figured he didn’t mind, either.

“Uh, not that I'm taking credit for it or anything, but, ah, I'm sorry if the whole kid scientist thing is a bummer for you. Not that I think you'd be mad over him showing an interest in science! I have no idea, really, maybe you’ve dreamed of him going to art school, or becoming an accountant, or maybe don't listen to me at all, because now I'm just babbling.”

Thankfully, Steve laughed and nudged Tony under the table, a shy smile taking up residence on his face. There was something altogether different in his eyes though, pride and fear openly warring with each other.

“Honestly? I'm relieved to see him so interested in this sort of thing,” Steve admitted. “When I was his age I already had my mind made up that I was going to be a soldier, like my father.”

Tony nodded and waited, because Steve had taken one of those pregnant pauses that were indicative of their conversation treading onto sacred ground.

“My biological father, I mean,” Steve said. “Ma spent a lot of time… Well, calling it ‘glorifying’ doesn't seem very fair to her.”

Tony wondered if Steve was aware of how rigid his posture had become; the man was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, scowl firmly in place as he stared down at his hands.

“She did the best she could,” Steve said after another long silence, sounding as if his heart was heavy. “It was important to her that I understood the sacrifice he’d made.”

“Feel free to tell me to shut the fuck up,” Tony said once he was sure Steve was done speaking. He watched Steve’s face for signs of the walls coming back up as he took the conversational plunge. “I'm sensing you think she did almost too good of a job?”

Tony held his breath, anxiety alleviated when Steve’s shoulders slumped. Then he looked up with relief in his eyes, as if grateful Tony had said it on his behalf. “Something like that, yeah. Both of Peter’s biological parents served. Then there’s me, his uncles, five grandfathers, his aunt Tasha, Sam. The overwhelming majority of adults in Peter’s life are soldiers.” Steve’s mouth twisted uncomfortably as he quietly corrected himself. “ _Were_ soldiers.”

“Don't want him following in your footsteps?”

“God, no.” The expression Steve wore spoke volumes, and when he dragged a hand across his mouth it was shaking. “That would destroy me, Tony, no two ways about it.”

The worst part was, Tony didn't think Steve was being dramatic, or exaggerating in the least. “Well, he could always work at SHIELD,” Tony said, pointing at Peter’s drawing. “Kid already has artistic chops.”

Steve's expression softened somewhat, the smile making a reappearance. “He’ll be thrilled to hear how much you liked everything.”

“Hey, can I…” Tony swallowed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Steve was watching him, presumably waiting for the rest of the sentence, but Tony shrugged, shook his head. “Never mind.”

His heart was pounding in his ears, eyes focused on Peter’s letter, so when Steve touched his arm, Tony jumped, just a little, but enough to makes his sudden nerves glaringly apparent. “Tony, what is it?”

“Nothing,” he swore, taking a sip of his coffee.

To his surprise, Steve arched an eyebrow at him and knocked on the table. “Scared together, right?” he asked, sounding about as nervous as Tony was feeling.

Taking a deep breath, Tony squared his shoulders. After the reaction he’d received the last time he’d tried to give Peter a gift, it made perfect sense that Tony felt the need to batten down the hatches before opening his mouth. “Right. Fair. Okay, uh, I was… Well, I was going to ask if I could get him something science related for Christmas, or, ah, even as a thank you for the letter, if Christmas gifts from me would seem too ‘stranger danger’ to be appropriate.”

Steve’s eyes went wide and he opened his mouth, which prompted Tony to keep talking, because he wasn’t sure how he was going to hide the crushing disappointment when Steve said no. At least the last time they’d circled the topic it had been while on the phone, not that it had sucked any less.

“Nothing extravagant, promise, and I’ll have everything sent to the shop so you can see it and decide whether or not it’s appropriate before he—”

Steve did them both a favor, leaned across the table and kissed Tony quiet. “That sounds great, Tony.”

He could only blink for a moment. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded and helped himself to Tony’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. There was a lot going on in his eyes, too much to catalog, but enough for Tony to understand that—for whatever reason—Steve was struggling with something.

“Encouragement from you… Hell, Tony, it would mean more than anything I could say on the subject,” Steve answered, and _damn_ , that was not anything Tony had been even remotely prepared to hear. “You’re an actual scientific genius.” Steve swallowed, his eyes lowering. When he spoke, there was the oddest note of resignation in his voice. “You’ve already made the world a better, happier place. Helped people feel whole again.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to something like that? Tony’s first impulse was to deny Steve's words, almost as if they were an accusation, or deflect it all with some pro-military rhetoric, but that felt wrong. Dishonest. _Guilt_ was tangled up somewhere between the words Steve had used and the things he'd left unsaid, and for once Tony was confident none of it had anything to do with him at all, and everything to do with Steve’s opinion of himself.

“Hey, I know for a fact that you've made the world a better place for Peter,” Tony insisted. “Being a loving parent is probably the best gift anyone could give to a child.”

Steve's eyes darted upward, seemed to search Tony's face for some sign that he was being placated, perhaps, but upon finding nothing disingenuous he smiled. Sad and small, but a smile nonetheless. “I suppose.”

Tony's mouth went and got away from him again, so that he didn't realize what he'd said until he saw Steve's eyes go all soft, and backtracked in his mind.

“Seriously, growing up I would have given _anything_ —inheritance, organs, whatever—for a dad who loved me.”

And _mortifying_. Tony fought the urge to run out of the room, the grip Steve had on his hand going a long way toward keeping him there. Tony opened his mouth, scrambling to find a way to take it back, but the look in Steve's eyes stopped him from saying anything at all. Instead, he watched Steve stand up and walk around the table, then allowed himself to be pulled out of his seat and into a hug, even as his face burned with embarrassment.

Thankfully, Steve didn't attempt to convince him that somehow he’d gotten it all wrong, and that one day he’d look back, or have an epiphany and realize that while some fathers might not use the words, they _always_ loved their sons. Tony had heard a few variations on that theme over the years, the whole, “I bet he just didn’t know how to show it,” crap that was a big reason why he tried never to talk about his childhood in the first place. Tony neither wanted nor needed to be coddled where Howard Stark was concerned; for whatever reason, his father hadn’t liked him, and that was that.

So, he was grateful Steve skipped all that, or the ‘being a parent is complicated’ bullshit Jarvis had opted for, and instead said, “You're right. Too many people take that for granted.”

The tension eased out of him at Steve’s words and Tony hugged back.

“I’m lucky I can give Peter the love _every_ child deserves,” Steve added softly, and that was nice, too, as far as possible responses went, especially since Tony was pretty sure it was Steve’s way of saying Howard’s hang-ups weren’t Tony’s fault.

Lunch had been abandoned after that, and they’d found themselves sprawled on the couch, Steve allowing Tony to steer the conversation in another direction. They’d talked about their respective Christmas plans, and maybe that ledto quite a bit of making out, which was Tony’s fault, really, because once he’d started kissing Steve, stopping had been particularly difficult.

There was something reverent in the way Steve’s hands moved across Tony’s body, sliding beneath his shirt. Slow, sweeping strokes of Steve’s palms, the slide of fingers against his ribs. Tony’s breath was stolen by deep, lingering kisses, and the look in Steve’s eyes. It was bordering on an intensity that was maddening. Hell, Tony had been ready to slide a helping hand into Steve’s sensible slacks, or maybe go down on him, but then Steve had slowed the pace of the kiss before stopping altogether.

“I’ll miss you,” Steve had said before leaving, and part of Tony wanted to drag him back inside and rip his clothes off, while the rest of him was too busy cheering triumphantly over Steve’s words to care about sex.

The truth was, Tony had been waiting for Steve to revert to form and for their lunch to end in a bit of Blitzkrieg-esque afternoon delight. And, sure, he was uncomfortably turned on after Steve left and had to take care of it himself, but that was so much better than what he’d been dealing with before. It meant he could close his eyes and remember the warmth of Steve’s breath against his skin, the worshipful movement of his hands, and the edge of vulnerability that had been in his voice when telling Tony he would be missed.

Yes, the eventual orgasm was a relief, but that wasn’t the reason why Tony was smiling as he cleaned up the aftermath of their lunch together, or why his heart raced when his phone chirped to let him know Steve had sent him a text message despite them having just seen each other. Sex was nothing compared to the bubbling happiness that propelled Tony through his quest to find an appropriate gift for Peter.

Little did Tony know how much his efforts would pay off, emotionally.

“Still haven’t been to bed?” Rhodey asked as he wandered into Pepper’s kitchen on Christmas morning.

Tony jumped, almost dropping his phone into his cup of coffee in the process, before he yanked the headphones out of his ears, and swiped hurriedly at his eyes. Rhodey’s own eyes narrowed and immediately he grabbed for the phone.

“Hey, no,” Tony tried to snatch it back, but apparently Rhodey had been practicing keep away since they’d last battled, because his new technique was unstoppable. It involved a lot of hip checking, shoving at Tony’s face, going dead weight, and jumping. “Seriously? You’re a grown man, Honeycrisp, come on!”

“No way! You were sitting here in the dark crying,” Rhodey snapped. “I wanna see what the hell that jerk did to set you off.”

“Steve is not—”

Rhodey shushed him with a finger, which Tony promptly put in his mouth. This in turn escalated things to the extent that Pepper stormed into the room a minute later, ignored the two of them wrestling on the floor, and snatched up the forgotten phone. Tony froze in anticipation as Pepper hit play on the video he’d just spent the last half hour watching over and over again.

“Oh my god,” Pepper said, a hand against her chest. “Look how cute! Is that Peter?”

Tony had the video memorized, so he was smiling ahead of Peter’s enthusiastic cheering when he finally succeeded in struggling through wrapping paper and ribbons to open his gift. Rhodey had stopped fighting him and was giving Tony a strange look instead, but whatever. Tony was beyond caring. He propped himself up on Rhodey’s chest and watched Pepper watching the video, smiling hard enough to hurt his own face.

After a lot of deliberation, he’d opted for a personalized lab coat, along with a kit loaded with age appropriate science experiments Peter could conduct, all of which Tony had personally designed and assembled. Steve had taken one look at it, called him up, and thanked him, not letting Tony brush aside the effort that had been involved.

“Please, I recognize your handwriting,” Steve had said, “and I know you did all the technical drawings in here, too. It's amazing, he’s going to _love_ this, Tony. Thank you so much.”

There were also some edited down promotional materials Tony had created for SI’s board of directors back when he’d first proposed the move into bionic prosthetics. Since Peter had lots of questions about how his uncle’s arm worked, Tony thought it might be pretty cool to check out. Sure, it could potentially be over Peter's head, but there were loads of simulations included, and the underlying principles were there for the grasping.

Tony had been so happy to get the ‘thank you’ call from Steve and to hear that everything was very much Dad Approved and waiting for Peter under the tree, that he’d figured that would be the extent of it. Instead—thanks to being in a different time zone—he’d been startled awake by his phone at five thirty in the morning. Working on autopilot, Tony hit play on the video, eyes drifting closed again when he heard Steve say, “This is from Tony.”

He’d been wide awake in an instant, had held his breath while watching Steve’s son vibrate with excitement as he unwrapped his gift. There was a shout of delight as Peter found a, “Real scientist coat, daddy!” waiting for him inside the box. Peter had been in such a rush to put it on that he’d tangled himself up in the sleeves and Steve had to sort him out. The excitement only grew when Peter started digging through his new science starter kit, holding up plastic test tubes, marveling over the instructions for building his first robot, and somewhere in there he figured out that Steve was recording video for Tony, and spun around to face the camera.

“Tony! Thank you, thank you,” Peter had cheered, his hands raised in the air while he grinned ear to ear. “I’ll do all the ‘speriments and make new ones, too, and you can come see them and show me more!”

Steve popped into frame, sporting glorious bed head, wearing a big old smile on his face. “I think he likes your gift,” he’d said, while Peter shouted, “Science!” in the background. Steve had turned the camera back around, saying, “Merry Christmas, Tony,” while Peter carefully examined each and every item Tony had included, his adorable little face scrunched up in concentration.

Yes, Tony had been thrilled, and sure, maybe he’d brought his phone with him to make some coffee and had been happy enough to get choked up over the video when Rhodey wandered into the kitchen, but how else was he supposed to react?

“Tony, that’s adorable,” Pepper swore. “He’s practically a little you.”

Rhodey agreed after watching the video, but that wasn't the end of it. “Don’t think this changes anything. He’s still getting an earful from me.”

“He better not.” Tony took back his phone and folded his arms across his chest. “I already talked to him. Things are good.”

“For now.”

“Really? This is the first Christmas morning I can remember _actually_ being happy, and you’re gonna start with me?”

“No,” Pepper answered, slapping a hand over Rhodey’s mouth and jabbing a finger into Tony’s chest. “What’s going to happen is the two of you are going to make more coffee, waffles, and bring them to me in bed, since you woke me up early on the one day I traditionally sleep in late!”

That had taken care of that, more or less. Tony had been tense and Rhodey had been edgey, until one or the other of them sighed.

“Just promise me you won’t keep it to yourself if he starts his shit again.”

“I won’t,” Tony promised, hissing when Rhodey slapped his hand away from the waffle maker. “I’ll talk to _him_ about it.” Rhodey frowned at this, while Tony shrugged. “Look, I’m done with letting him walk all over me, Honeybear. Someone smarter than me, with hair much redder than mine, once said relationships are between two people. Steve and I will either figure this thing out _together_ , or we won’t.”

Rhodey studied his face, then gave Tony’s shoulder a squeeze. “You haven’t even met the kid yet and you’re crazy over him. If push comes to shove, do you really think you’re capable of walking away?”

It should have hurt to hear Rhodey ask, but there was so much love, and concern, and understanding at play in his friend’s eyes that Tony couldn’t muster anything aside from appreciation. Rhodey had been there for him after Tony’s parents had died, had been ready to literally murder Stane when he realized the extent of the man’s betrayal. More than anyone, Rhodey knew how much Tony _needed_ this—a shot at love and a family—to work between him and Steve.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I’m really hoping I don’t have to find out.”

With a sigh, Rhodey pulled him in close. “Well, if he can make you smile like you were earlier, I guess he can’t be all bad.”

That was the last anyone lectured him about Steve, which was for the best. As much as Tony enjoyed spending Christmas with his besties, he was desperate to head back home, the anticipation over seeing Steve again building with each and every hour they spent apart. He watched the video of Peter on repeat, had a Pavlovian response whenever Steve sent a text message, couldn't stop thinking of their last kiss. The longing was painful enough that by the time he was boarding his flight home, Tony began to mentally browbeat himself, convinced he needed to lower his expectations so as to avoid crippling disappointment upon being reunited with Steve. There wasn't a chance in Hell that Steve missed Tony even _half_ as much as Tony missed Steve. That would be crazy. Right?

Then again, maybe it wasn't crazy in the least. Maybe Tony had put himself through an emotional grinder for no good reason. Moments after exiting his vehicle, strong arms wrapped around him and Tony's toes were no longer touching the ground. Steve showed no signs of putting him back down any time soon, either, which was fine. Better than fine, actually.  _Amazing_ , if you wanted to get specific. The only issue? It was going to be the death of Tony, overload the circuitry in his heart;  he'd never anticipated the device needing to handle this level of happiness.

T he warmth radiating off of Steve eradicated any chill from exposure to the elements. Tony gave in to the sensation, let his eyes fall closed and squeezed back, grinning fiercely against the side of Steve's neck. As far as hugs went, it was right up there with the best of them.

“Hi,” Steve said, and then Tony's feet were back on the ground again, although Steve hadn't let go. 

They swayed together in front of the shop, Tony unable to stifle a contented sigh, not caring that Rhodey was probably watching the exchange with a big old smirk on his face. Here he was, on the cusp of a new year, body thrumming with excitement as Steve kissed him—short, sweet, tender—before tucking Tony under an arm, and finally extending a hand to Rhodey in acknowledgement.

“That was rude. I apologize, but couldn’t help myself,” Steve said, clasping Rhodey’s hand. “Steve Rogers. Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Captain,” Rhodey answered easily.

As soon as they were done shaking hands, Rhodey straightened up and saluted. Tony could feel the tension hit Steve in response and frowned to himself when the arm around his shoulders was taken away. Gone was the relaxed, smiling Steve who had greeted him, and Tony wanted to kick Rhodey in the shins. Tony waited for the scene to play out. There was too much going on in each of their eyes as Steve returned the salute, and there was always the chance he’d somehow make things worse by intervening.

“Glad you could join us,” Steve said far too solemnly for Tony’s liking. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

As soon as Steve’s back was turned, Tony made accusatory bug eyes at Rhodey, who waved him away. Tony sent off a quick text message demanding to know what the hell that was all about, but Rhodey glared at him and refused to look at his phone when it vibrated in his pocket.

“Tony already knows everyone here at the moment,” Steve said, leading Rhodey away.

The introductions started with Bucky, who had repositioned himself to be up front as soon as they’d entered the shop, and was now making a beeline for Tony.

“How’s it going, Tony?” Bucky didn’t bother with a handshake this time, just pulled Tony into a hug instead, then hit him with a lopsided grin.

“Uh, good, I think.”

Bucky draped an arm around his shoulders. “We’re all real glad you’re here tonight.” Tony wondered if there was a big ‘but’ coming next, only Bucky followed up with, “Hope it’s the first of many.”

“I’ll raise a glassful of non-alcoholic beverage to that,” Tony answered, surprised when Bucky laughed at the lame joke.

Bucky’s arm still around his shoulders, Tony was led over to Clint’s station, which had been transformed into a makeshift bar. To say Hawkeye had dressed for the occasion would be an understatement. He was wearing a driver cap, a crisp white shirt, bow tie, striped vest with matching pinstriped pants, sleeve garters, and had what looked to be a fake mustache glued to his face.

“Yeah, don’t ask,” Bucky said to Tony, leaning over to swat at Clint’s hat. Hawkeye was too quick, though, leaning back far enough that Tony expected him to tip over, yet the hat stayed firmly in place, much to Clint’s obvious delight.

“Stark! Welcome to the party, man,” Clint said with an almost manic grin. He snatched up a cocktail shaker that appeared to be filled with only ice, shaking it dramatically. “What can I get you?”

“Anything bearing a resemblance to coffee would be great.”

“That can be arranged,” Clint answered, shoving his shaker at Bucky, who promptly pushed it back at Clint. “Yo, Cap, let me get your keys!”

“I can always—” Tony attempted to say, but Bucky shook his head.

“Let it play out,” Bucky said with a sly smile. “This way you and Steve’ll get a couple minutes alone without it seeming rude.”

While Tony attempted to process this, Steve appeared, a furrow firmly in place between his brows. “Why do you need my keys?”

“We were gonna make Tony coffee,” Clint explained innocent as you please, even as he and Bucky continued with their ice shaker shoving match.

“Oh. I can do it,” Steve offered. “Want to head upstairs for a minute?”

“Sure,” Tony answered cautiously, trying to ignore the thumbs up Clint was giving him. “I should probably—”

“I’ll go see what Rhodes is drinking,” Bucky interrupted, adding, “I’ll let him know you’ll be back in a minute,” before scampering off.

Tony wondered if he should be concerned, but Steve seemed happy and oblivious, so he decided to play along instead. Steve took the stairs two at a time, while Tony unashamedly ogled his ass on the way up.

“Must be nice having Rhodes back for the holidays,” Steve said as he opened the door. The apartment was lit only by the Christmas tree. Seeing it that way made Tony giddy for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. “When does he head back?”

“End of next week.” Steve flipped on the kitchen light, and set to work on the coffee. There was something off with him, but Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. “Uh, sorry if the saluting was awkward.”

“I appreciated the show of respect for the Medal of Honor. Caught me by surprise is all,” Steve answered. Tony watched him hit the switch on the coffee maker, mentally kicking himself for not having figured it out on his own. He was prepared for Steve's mood to tank, but instead Tony found himself on the receiving end of another of Steve’s soft smiles. “Is he staying with you?”

“Called dibs on Pepper’s place, actually.”

For whatever reason, this prompted Steve to blush, the bright pink of his cheeks visible before he turned around to fuss with getting mugs out of the cabinets. “Oh, okay, good.” Before Tony could ask why that was good, Steve cleared his throat and turned back around, letting Tony bask in the full glow of his adorable sudden case of nerves. “Clint and Bucky usually pass out here on New Year’s Eve. It’s last minute notice, so no hard feelings if the answer is no, but, ah,” Steve’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, “would it be okay if I spent the night at your place?”

Tony was very grateful he hadn’t been drinking anything when the question was asked, because he would have either choked and killed himself, or sprayed liquid everywhere in shock. _So much shock_. And wow, the determined, hungry look in Steve’s eyes was a beautiful contrast to the blush and sent Tony’s imagination spiraling out of control.

“Absolutely,” Tony answered, trying not to sound desperate and overzealous.

Steve hadn’t explicitly said he was going to be spending the night in Tony’s bed for this impromptu sleepover, but the implication was there, hanging out in the room, demanding attention. Tony was far, far too invested in the answer being yes to come right out and ask.

“In all fairness, I feel like should warn you; I’m an unrepentant blanket hog.”

“That’s fine,” Steve said, his stupid, perfect eyelashes fluttering prettily, “I tend to run hot anyway.”

Tony couldn't help himself. “Damn right you do.” Thankfully, this earned him laughter and Steve snagging him by the wrist to pull closer. “I’m happy to offer you sanctuary. Guessing those two are a handful when they’ve been drinking?”

“You could say that,” Steve answered, the blush making a comeback. “Bucky thinks they’re being quiet, but he’s a bit more, ah, vocal than he realizes.” Steve shrugged, squeezed Tony a little tighter. “I could rationalize it away if you wanted, but the truth is I missed you, and was hoping to get some alone time with my boyfriend.”

Tony was never going to get tired of hearing that. “Missed you, too.”

Steve’s smile was something else, as was the kiss he planted on Tony, full of longing and promise. Tony would be a lying liar if he said he wasn’t tempted to blow off the party altogether, get Steve back to his place, naked and spread across his bed. Maybe Steve picked up on that, because he tried to pull away, prompting Tony to chase after his mouth, the two of them grinning dopily as they kissed, tried to stop again, then went right back to kissing.

“Okay, I think the coffee is ready,” Steve rumbled after a moment, disentangling himself from Tony’s clutches.

“Right. Don’t want to be the asshole who brings a friend to a party, then ditches him.” Tony took a couple steps back, adjusted himself, and grinned. “To be continued?”

“God, I hope so,” Steve answered immediately, running a hand over his face. As if catching himself, he went a bit wide eyed and added, “Not that we have to do anything sexual tonight. I’ll be happy as long as I have you to myself for a little while.”

For his part, Tony smiled like a loon, accepted the mug of coffee Steve pressed into his hands. “Likewise,” he said, slightly surprised to find he meant it. “Shall we go be social?”

“After you.”

So, Tony headed back downstairs, torn down the middle with excitement, happiness, and the understanding that no matter what happened, it was going to be a long, interesting night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Rhodey. Have I mentioned I love Rhodey? I love him so much I have difficulty writing him at times, because of the love I have for him. I'm worried I'll get distracted by making him and Tony talk only to each other, and ignore everything and everyone around him. Anyway, HI RHODEY! I'm so glad you're here.
> 
> Meanwhile, Bucky has already decided Tony is family, and will treat him as such. Don't be scared, Tony, he likes you. Oh, and Peter didn't forget about Tony? No? How shocking.
> 
> Can we talk for a moment about how hard Steve is trying? Because he really, really is. While he can't undo his reaction to Peter's birthday party, it is interesting to see him actively attempting to find a comfortable way to begin letting Tony close to his child. And then we have them struggling to open and reach for and comfort each other. Tony losing track of his mouth and being honest in response to Steve's own honesty. Each reminding the other that they're in this thing together.
> 
> Brace yourself. Next week's chapter is almost 13K, and continues the trend of Steve & Tony: Doing This Life Thing Together. It also might be incredibly sexy. *cough cough*


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's Eve, and Steve finds himself in the odd position of having a reason to celebrate. He also learns that it's often tiny, seemingly inconsequential things that have the power to catch us off guard, and leave us seeing the world differently than we have in the past. Letting go in the arms of someone you love and trust is a gift, and not one Steve intends to take for granted.

“That’s ‘cause you’re bonkers,” Bucky insisted, fishing out his phone. “I’ll prove it!”

“If by prove it, you mean pull up the wikipedia page Clint changed on your behalf,” Steve started, but he never bothered finishing the sentence.

He’d been so caught up bickering about baseball stats with his brother that, for just a moment, Steve had forgotten Tony was there at the party. Something had prompted Tony to laugh, the sound carrying across the room, cutting through the chatter and the music. Steve’s heart lurched at hearing it, whatever he’d been talking about forgotten as he caught sight of Tony with his head tipped back, eyes scrunched up, clapping as he laughed.

Steve was so deeply affected it felt like he was in _shock_. Everything else fell to the wayside until there was only Tony, standing at the center of his life, bright and beautiful and _Steve’s_ , by some miracle. In the past, anxiety and fear would churn up inside of his chest whenever Steve imagined mixing Tony with the rest of his life. Now, Steve was blindsided by a sense of rightness, of belonging, reeling as his perspective shifted violently in another direction.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky asked, but it sounded as if he was far away.

The shop wasn’t large and felt even smaller when filled with people, but somehow crossing the distance between them seems to stretch on for an eternity. Steve wasn’t sure why getting to Tony felt so necessary, but it did, and so he almost caused a few people to lose their drinks as he rushed to Tony’s side.

“... way you’re coming near my junk with needles,” Tony was saying as he turned, his eyes locking onto Steve’s. “Hey! I was just telling Sif—”

Steve cut him off with a kiss, relieved when Tony cupped his jaw and pulled him back in for another when Steve remembered his surroundings and attempted to stop. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said with a nod to Sif and Rhodey, wondering how obvious his blush was.

“Interrupt all you like,” Sif answered, hiding a smile behind her glass.

When he turned back again, Tony was watching him, searching his face for answers. “I heard you laugh,” Steve explained in quiet French, “and… I don’t know. I needed to tell you how glad I am you’re here tonight.”

Any embarrassment he’d been feeling was worth it to see the way Tony’s eyes lit up upon hearing Steve’s words. “Me too,” he said, chewing on his lower lip to stifle his smile. “This mean you’re having too much fun to sneak out after the ball drops?”

Watching the way Tony’s mouth moved as he formed the words in French was somehow scandalous, made Steve want to kiss him quiet again. A shiver ran up Steve’s spine, even as he laughed, nerves and arousal and all around confusion leaving him a bit overwhelmed.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Steve answered once he could speak again.

Tony shook his head, lashes fluttering downward for a moment before he was looking up, meeting Steve’s eyes again, warmth and adoration and happiness all right there for anyone to see. “What am I going to do about you, Steve Rogers?”

And even though he’d hoped and planned for it to happen, it was only in that precise moment that everything finally felt real for Steve. He was going home with Tony, would get to spend the night in his bed. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Just like that, Tony’s pupils dilated and he licked his lower lip, shaking his head. Seeing it made Steve feel almost unbearably, dangerously happy.

“Sorry again,” Steve said, switching back to English and giving Rhodes a nod. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

He could feel Tony watching him as he walked away. Ignoring Bucky’s narrowed eyes, Steve picked up where they’d left off in the argument. After that, though, no matter where he was or who he was talking to, Steve’s attention was on Tony. Watching him peripherally, listening for his voice, or his laugh, seeking him out again and again.

The nervousness only returned when he spotted Bucky and Tony in a rather serious looking tête-à-tête, but Rhodes joined him before Steve could investigate. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Ah, sure,” Steve answered, turning so Tony was at his back, unconvinced he was capable of paying attention to Rhodes otherwise. “What’s up?”

Almost immediately, Steve’s stomach dropped somewhere down into the vicinity of his shoes. The expression on Rhodes’s face said it all. “I’ll keep this short and sweet. I hope you know what you’re doing, because you only get so many chances. The last thing Tony needs at this stage of life is yet another person playing games with his heart.”

“I know,” Steve answered weakly.

“No, you really don’t,” Rhodes insisted. “Now, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because Tony tells me the two of you worked things out, but if you hurt him? Don’t expect him to stick around. You’ll _never_ see him again, won’t even be able to get near him.”

Steve bit down on the inside of his cheek, anger and panic duking it out, but he wasn’t in a position to be mad at Rhodes. If their roles were reversed, he might not be quite so reserved. More disturbing was the realization that Rhodes was probably right. It was all too easy to imagine Tony walking away from his sterile penthouse, getting on a plane, and disappearing.

“I can’t change the way I behaved,” Steve said once he was certain Rhodes had finished. “All I can do now is try to make it up to him and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“See that you do,” Rhodes said after spending a long, tense moment staring into Steve’s eyes. “I hear any rumblings from him, I’ll be the first to suggest he walks away.”

“I understand,” Steve said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Unable to help himself, he looked over his shoulder, needing the reassurance that Tony was still there. When he turned back, Rhodes’s expression had softened considerably.

“Just keep up whatever you’ve been doing,” he said seriously. “I like seeing him happy.”

“Me too.”

And for a prolonged moment, Steve found himself stuck wavering over a precipice of doubt and guilt, overwhelmed by the sudden, unwanted awareness of all of his own shortcomings. The air caught in his chest, fear gripping his heart in a fist, as all the ugly, broken parts of himself seemed to come to consensus that he was an idiot if he thought there was even a chance he’d be able to keep Tony in his life. There were tears in his eyes in an instant, the emptiest of feelings threatening to consume him, but then Steve felt a hand on his back, warm, sliding lower until it was nestled against the base of his spine.

“Okay, I think Thor is officially the most interesting man in the world,” Tony announced as his, Bucky’s, and Clint’s arrival brought an end to the uncomfortable conversation.

Steve had an arm around him in an instant, pulled Tony in close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The distraction allowed Steve the opportunity to swipe at his eyes and try to get himself back under control. “That’s only because you haven’t met his brother,” Steve said, thankful his voice sounded steadier than he was feeling.

Tony was staring at Rhodes with narrowed eyes even as he asked, “How is that even possible?”

“Ah! Nope. You know the rules, Cap,” Clint interrupted, waving his hands and almost spilling his drink. Bucky sighed and confiscated the beer, taking a long pull from the bottle. “We don’t talk about that asshole.”

Steve had never been more grateful for his brother’s inability to resist riling Clint up. “Loki’s a magician,” Bucky explained, huffing when Clint elbowed him in the ribs. “Calm down, sweetheart, I wasn’t even gonna mention how he hypnotized you into cluckin’ like a—”

Then Clint’s hands were slapped over Bucky’s mouth, which escalated into a scuffle, so that by the time Clint found himself in a headlock crying, “ _Uncle_ already, you fuckin’ oaf!” Steve’s laughter was genuine, the awful despondency retreating.

Tony still found a way to get him off to the side fifteen minutes or so later, his concerned expression making it clear Steve’s earlier state of distress hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Did Rhodey say something to upset you?”

“Nothing he shouldn’t have said.” Which was, unfortunately, the truth. “How about you? My brother looked pretty serious earlier.”

“Bucky?” Tony seemed surprised. “Nope, no shovel talks. I convinced him to take me up on the offer of an upgrade to his arm, though. Uh, I hope that’s alright?”

Warmth and gratitude washed over Steve as he curled a hand around the nape of Tony’s neck, toyed with the soft hairs there. “That’s incredibly generous of you, Tony.”

Tony’s answering smile was a tenuous thing. “Sure you’re okay?”

Jubilant voices swelled around them as someone gave a shout and the countdown began. “About to be a whole lot better,” he said, stepping closer.

Thankfully, Tony smiled at this, eyes sparkling with mischief behind his glasses as his hands slid up across Steve’s pectorals, then along his shoulders. “Is that a fact?”

With seven seconds left to spare, Steve helped himself to the last kiss he would give that year, only pulling back long enough to whisper, “It is,” against Tony’s lips before claiming his first for the new year. The sounds of celebration swelled around them as Steve deepened the kiss, feeling as if he might lose himself in Tony’s eyes. And for the first time since joining the Army, when someone set off fireworks outside, Steve’s heart behaved itself, his nerves remained unaffected, every bit of his attention far too preoccupied with Tony to care very much about anything else.

Tony’s fingers slid through Steve’s hair, while one warm hand traced the ridges of his spine before sliding lower to squeeze his ass. Then Tony’s hand was curled around his hip, holding tight as he kissed Steve breathless. Heat was rolling off of Tony’s body, or maybe that was Steve; either way, he felt overheated, overdressed, and overexposed.

“Mmm, I need to get you home,” Tony said, the French combined with the look in Tony’s eyes causing Steve to shiver with anticipation. Tongue darting out over his lower lip, Tony added, “And just to be clear, by home, I mean in my bed.”

“God, _yes_ , please,” Steve exhaled, prompting Tony to laugh. Not at him, but with him, their bodies swaying against each other as Steve joined in. “Although, I feel bad commandeering you when Rhodes is in town.”

“He’s fine, I already gave him a heads up about tonight. We’re meeting up again tomorrow afternoon. Do you need to pack something or—”

“Might have been optimistic,” Steve interrupted. “I have an overnight bag stowed in the office.”

“Gotta love a man who’s prepared,” Tony joked, prompting Steve to kiss him again, just once, but with great enthusiasm. By the time he was done, Tony’s eyes were dark and his cheeks were flushed. “Yeah, c’mon Rogers, get your gear. We’re blowing this popsicle stand.”

Getting into the office was easier said than done, involved a lot of handshaking and half-hugs along the way, but eventually Steve had his coat on, bag slung over his shoulder, and was making a beeline for his brother.

“Whoa, where the hell are you goin’?” Bucky asked as soon as he caught sight of Steve.

“Tony and I are heading out,” Steve said. “Feel free to crash upstairs as usual. Oh, and I grabbed a couple of those awful frozen breakfasts you’re both addicted to, so help yourself in the morning.”

Bucky had the sort of look on his face that Steve was never quite sure how to interpret. There was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before the Army, but a smile was taking over his face, which was a relief. Sometimes the same look was followed by tears, or shouting, or a profoundly uncomfortable silence.

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, then yanked him in for a hug, smelling faintly of cigarettes and beer as he planted a big wet kiss on Steve’s cheek. When he was done, he held Steve’s face between his hands, the metal of the left feeling exceptionally cold against Steve’s overheated skin. “I’m real happy for you, punk. Tony’s a great guy.”

Steve glanced over Bucky’s shoulder, eyes locking on Tony. He was laughing again, both of Natasha’s arms wrapped around one of his own as they chatted with Bruce and Rhodey. Seeing him there seemed to reinforce the strange feeling from earlier, flooding Steve’s chest with warmth and longing.

“Yeah. He really is.”

After messing up his hair, Bucky gave Steve a little push in Tony’s direction, waving him off. “Go ring in the New Year.”

Natasha seemed to stare into Steve’s soul before finally pressing a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth and relinquishing her hold on him. She smirked and said something to Tony in Russian that had him squeezing his eyes shut and shaking with silent laughter.

“Oh, hey, before I leave, did I ever mention that Rhodey has the most adorable crush on Pepper?”

Rhodes groaned and rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You’re just gonna throw me under the bus on your way out the door?”

“Come on, Sugarsnap, don’t be that way. I’m _helping_. Natasha is a font of wisdom when it comes to relationships,” Tony swore, gesturing between the two of them. “Be bold, talk tactics, or whatever.”

“Get out of here while I still like you,” Rhodey suggested, but he pulled Tony into a hug before shaking Steve’s hand. “Great to finally meet you.”

“Hopefully, we’ll see each other again before you head back,” Steve answered, wondering if Rhodes could tell he meant the words, despite the earlier tension.

“I’d like that.”

“Bruce,” Steve said, extending his hand. Bruce accepted without hesitation, but was wearing an expression not dissimilar to the one Rhodes was sporting. Tony might have forgiven him, but Steve suspected it’d take a while before he’d proven himself worthy to Tony’s friends.

“Happy New Year,” Bruce answered, squeezing Steve's hand harder than necessary before saying his goodbyes to Tony.

Natasha stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss below Steve’s ear, her fingers digging into his shoulders for just a moment. “Don’t worry, they’ll come around,” she said softly, and some of the tension eased at her words.

“You think?”

“I know,” she answered, and the confidence in her voice was almost as surprising as the pride in her eyes as she tugged on the lapels of his coat before patting him on the cheek, and sending him on his way.

Outside was better, the air crisp, and cool, and cutting through the strange fog that has crept across Steve’s thoughts. Throughout the neighborhood, Steve could hear people celebrating. It was odd to find himself feeling part of it all for a change, connected somehow.

“That smile looks good on you,” Tony said as they pulled away from the curb. “I take it this means you had a nice time?”

“New Year’s isn’t exactly my favorite holiday,” he admitted, settling his hand atop Tony’s thigh, giving it a little squeeze. “I usually sneak off before the ball drops. Give it twenty minutes or so, then come back.”

Tony glanced at him before refocusing his attention on the road. “And this year?”

Steve dragged his thumb back and forth against the fabric of Tony’s pants, feeling the muscles beneath his hand flex in response. “I really enjoyed myself,” he admitted, “but that was because you were there. Well, not just there, but… _there_ , in my life.”

“Glad to be of service,” Tony said, laugh lines crinkling endearingly around his eyes. “It’s a melancholy time of year for a lot of people.”

That was true enough. The first year with Peter had been better, but every year since, Steve found himself all too aware of how fast his son seemed to be growing up. Any minute now, Steve would turn around and Peter would be a teenager, then heading off to college, and… Scrubbing a hand over his face, Steve tried to push aside the awfulness that always accompanied the thought of Peter leaving home, chest seizing up with heartache.

“Yeah,” Steve managed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, scrambling to find something else for his mind to focus on. It was Tony, of course, immediate and soothing, thinking again of Tony’s laughter cutting through the noise of the crowd, sending chills up and down Steve’s spine. “I… I guess the problem is that everyone else is celebrating, and I feel like I don’t have anything to look forward to.”

“I know what you mean,” Tony said after some consideration, the car all but purring as he switched gears.

Steve studied his profile, shadows and light sliding across his handsome face as they made their way to Manhattan. Normally, when people said that to him, Steve had to bite his tongue to prevent an argument. In his experience, the words were empty, usually followed by a shift in the conversation so the other person could begin talking about themself. Tony wasn’t like other people though, and so Steve squeezed his thigh reassuringly and waited.

“During my misspent youth I thought of tonight as amateur hour. Some of us partied all year long and were quite good at it, thank you very much. Which is bullshit, really. New Year’s was the night I always felt the most alone. Didn’t matter how many people I surrounded myself with, how drunk or high I got, it was the same thing every time.”

“Alone in a crowd syndrome,” Steve said softly. “I’ve been there more than once. I hope tonight wasn’t like that for you.”

“Nope,” Tony was smiling again, which was good to see. “But, I wasn’t alone, so that helped.”

Steve’s heart beat a little faster. He wished they were back at Tony’s place already; Steve wanted to kiss the man. “I really enjoyed having you there with me tonight,” Steve said. “Being able to look across the room and see you was… Well, I can’t explain how nice it was. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Tony’s hand left the gear shift for a moment to rest atop Steve’s own. “Hey, maybe it happened when it was meant to happen. All I know is, I had a great time and the night’s not over yet.”

The melancholy that had been settling in Steve’s chest was chased away by the warmth in Tony’s voice and the shy smile he was wearing. Watching him made Steve’s heart ache with longing. “I’m glad I got to meet Rhodes. Maybe Pepper will be able to join us next year, too.”

Tony hummed happily in response to this, his smile now twice as bright. “If I have my way, those two will be together by this time next year.”

“Playing matchmaker?”

“I disavow any knowledge of a conspiracy to get my idiot friends to admit they’re in love,” Tony said in an overly dramatic tone, as if he was testifying in a TV courtroom. “But, off the record, yes, they need to make beautiful babies together so I can spoil them rotten.”

Steve laughed, seeing it play out in his mind. “That reminds me, I’m going to have trouble when it’s time for Peter to go back to preschool. He’s insisted on wearing his lab coat every day since Christmas.”

“Yeah?” Tony turned again, a flash of childlike delight visible on his face before he refocused on the road.

Up ahead, Steve could see their destination and excitement pulsed through him, leaving his heart racing once again.

“We narrowly avoided a whole bedtime meltdown the first night, because he wanted to be able to have science dreams,” Steve said. “I told Peter that you don’t sleep in a lab coat and do just fine. Hopefully, that wasn’t a lie.”

Tony grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Like all brilliant scientists, I sleep naked.”

Steve’s body seemed to take the word ‘naked’ as a cue, blood rushing south as he conjured a mental image of a naked Tony, his lovely olive-tinted skin on display, contrasting nicely with white bedlinens. “Is that a fact?”

“The bit about me, sure,” Tony answered, still smiling. “I don’t know about other scientists. We can get a poll going, though. Remind me to text Bruce.”

As they wound around to Stark Tower’s private entrance, Steve tried and failed to stop grinning like an idiot. Tony was there, they were going to ride up to the penthouse, and then… Well, there was quite a bit Steve _hoped_ might happen when they arrived at their destination, but he could honestly say he’d still count it as one of the best nights of his life even if all they did was fall asleep together. It would still mean having Tony there with him, and at the moment, that felt monumental.

Once the car was turned off, Tony unfastened his seatbelt and leaned over, pulling Steve into an almost rough kiss. Unable to help himself, Steve moaned, dragged Tony closer, the two of them struggling together until they pulled apart again, breathless and dazed.

“Sorry, couldn’t wait anymore. I hope you realize how difficult it was to obey the speed limit.”

“I appreciate your, _oh_ , sacrifice,” Steve said, groaning. Tony had opted to help him with his seatbelt, which apparently involved dragging his hand across the obvious bulge in Steve’s pants.

“You know, normally, I’d suggest making out until we get the windows all steamy, but if I don’t get you upstairs soon, I might actually lose my mind.”

Steve immediately went for the door handle, joining in as Tony laughed, the two of them grinning stupidly at each other while Steve grabbed his overnight bag. Tony decided to take it a step further, shouted, “Race you,” and then took off for the elevator.

Tony might have had a headstart, but Steve tended to run like his life depended on it, and so he had no trouble sprinting past Tony and into the elevator, tagging the back wall well before Tony arrived.

“So not fair,” Tony wheezed, but he was grinning ear to ear as he slid open a panel to press his thumb against the controls inside. The elevator gave a tiny shudder before moving. “You’ve got all that extra leg.”

Steve pulled Tony close, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressed a kiss to his temple. He studied their reflections in the mirrored walls, his heart racing; not from the run, but from everything else.

“We look good together,” he announced solemnly, and it was true, but also something he hadn’t considered until that very moment. But there they stood, Tony tucked against Steve’s side like it was where he belonged, while Steve smiled at their reflections.

“Yeah we do,” Tony agreed, meeting his eyes in the mirrored surface before the doors slid open.

Tony took him by the hand and led him out, neither of them talking as they entered the penthouse. The silence was okay, though, was comfortable, even if it was charged with anticipation. Quiet was maintained even as Tony let go of his hand in order to remove Steve’s coat, then his own. Tony’s shoes were next, kicked off, thudding loudly against the hardwood flooring as they landed.

Once this was done, Tony held out his hand again, Steve taking it without hesitation, allowing himself to be led back into a section of the penthouse he’d never seen before. Tony’s bedroom had a spectacular view and a spacious bed, but like the rest of his home, there was something sterile about the place.

But then all thoughts of decor drifted away, as did anything and everything else, everything except Tony, squeezing his hand, leading him to the bed. Steve took the hint when Tony pressed down on his shoulders, sat on the edge, huffing in surprise when Tony dropped to his knees, and unlaced Steve’s boots.

“So,” Tony said, eyes flashing as he worked, “call me crazy, but I feel like you might have had something specific in mind for tonight.”

Steve’s breath caught, more from the look in Tony’s eyes than from his words. He was positive Tony knew _exactly_ what Steve was hoping would happen, but for whatever reason, needed to hear Steve say the words. Well, he’d spent enough time thinking about it since their talk. Steve figured it was only fair to be communicative.

“Yes.” Unable to resist, he reached out, carded his fingers through Tony’s hair, then did it again for good measure. “Although, I’d be happy just being here with you.”

Tony bit down into his lower lip, but the smile got away from him anyway. He arched an eyebrow as he tugged off Steve’s boots before settling between his knees, using his thighs as an armrest. “Me too. At this point, though, I think we can unequivocally state that we’re each interested in something more happening. Yes?”

“Very much yes,” Steve agreed, dragging his thumb across Tony’s lower lip.

Steve shuddered as Tony sucked his thumb into his mouth, lathing it with his tongue before letting it slide back out again, something beautifully obscene about the whole display. “I’m very much ready, willing, and able to expand our repertoire,” he said, and there was the shudder again, running through Steve’s body. “And equally happy to stick with familiar territory, if that’s what you’d like.”

If someone had asked him earlier, Steve would have done a fair bit of squirming over the idea of coming right out and saying what it was he wanted, but in the moment, with Tony, there was no embarrassment. So, he took a deep breath, licked his lips, and cupped Tony’s lovely face in his hands.

“Something new,” Steve said earnestly, pressing a soft kiss to Tony’s mouth, “since we’ll both be naked and in a bed and everything.” Another kiss. “Like you, inside of me. As long as that’s something you’d like to try, too.”

Tony’s expression made his opinion on the offer clear, but just in case Steve hadn’t picked up on the enthusiasm, he said, “Absolutely,” and pulled Steve into another kiss.

Before he was quite sure what had happened, Steve had a lapful of Tony, so he took advantage of the situation by sliding a hand over Tony’s ass, while his other slid up to grasp the back of Tony’s neck, hold him in place for more kissing. It was as if neither of them could get a proper hold on the other, their hands sliding across each other’s bodies, squeezing, arms winding tightly, and Steve had never been happier to have his breath stolen.

Steve tugged at the collar of Tony’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons and loosening his necktie until he could move everything aside, get his lips on skin. Tony hummed contentedly, tipping his head to give Steve more room to work.

“I know you haven’t done this with a partner before,” Tony said, rocking himself against Steve, “but how about on your own time?”

Heat flooded into Steve’s face, but he refused to be embarrassed. “Fingers,” he answered, sinking his teeth into the curve of Tony’s neck, earning himself a deep, throaty moan. Steve sucked at the skin, dragging his hands up along the outsides of Tony’s thighs before reaching around to grab handfuls of ass again. “I also, ah, made some preparations earlier, before you arrived.”

Tony wriggled around in his lap, hands pressing on Steve’s shoulders so there was a bit more space between them. Tony’s eyes moved rapidly as he searched Steve’s face, apparently coming to some conclusion if his widening eyes were any indication.

“Steven Rogers, have you been doing anal sex _reconnaissance_?”

Even though he knew Tony was pleased by this revelation, it was a little too close to teasing for Steve’s liking, left him feeling defensive where before he’d been relaxed. Anal had never been anything he was desperate to try, until he’d met Tony. After, though, the idea had taken on a life of its own, especially since their oh so brief mention of the possibility. Since then, yes, Steve had been doing research and self experimentation.

“I like being prepared.”

Maybe his tone had been too sharp, or the furrow he could feel forming between his brows gave him away, but the result was Tony’s expression softening, hands coming up to cradle Steve’s face.

“Good. That’s smart, Steve,” he said, and there was nothing teasing about Tony’s voice, or the look in his eyes. He was very serious. “Me too. I want to make sure I’m not pushing you to do something you’re not ready for. And if you are ready, I want to respect the trust that’s involved, make you feel _amazing_. Cared for. Taken care of.”

Tony’s words washed over him, easing away the burgeoning tension, Steve’s eyes fluttering closed as Tony pressed a kiss to his forehead. Arms wrapped around him, holding him close, so he exhaled, let out that last little bit of uncomfortableness, pressed himself against the warmth that was Tony.

“I’m ready,” he said, dragging his lips across Tony’s jumping pulse, breathing deeply. “I want this. I want _you_.”

“I want you, too, Steve,” Tony said, the words reverberating through his chest. “But I’m going to take my time, okay? Get you nice and relaxed before we try anything else.”

“Okay.”

Tony pulled back again so he could see Steve’s face. “This is going to sound like some product disclaimer, so bear with me here. Plenty of guys don’t like anal—giving or receiving—so there’s nothing wrong if it isn’t your cup of tea. We stop anytime you want. It can take a couple tries, especially the first time, and there’s nothing wrong with changing your mind. I’m trusting you to let me know if you’re uncomfortable, or not enjoying yourself.”

Steve nodded, turned his head so he could press a kiss against Tony’s palm. “I promise I’ll say something.”

“Good.” Tony’s eyes were very dark behind his glasses, his hair a mess from Steve’s fingers running through it, the adorableness of this an odd contrast to the intensity radiating off the man.

Kissing him seemed like a good idea, so Steve did that, grabbing hold of Tony’s tie to pull him close enough to latch onto. Tony made an appreciative noise against his lips, working on the buttons of his shirt so that Steve could push it aside. As always, something dangerous and possessive seemed to grip Steve’s heart for the briefest of moments, a visceral response to seeing the tattoo he’d placed on Tony’s chest.

Strange, thinking back to that day, to how worried he’d been over Tony showing up to have more work done. Now, the idea of letting anyone else get their hands on Tony left Steve grinding his teeth. Yes, it was Tony’s body and he could have anyone he liked tattoo him, but Steve still hated thinking about it. He pressed a kiss at the center of the artwork, lips brushing across the raised ridge of scar tissue, while sliding his hands beneath Tony’s ass. Using his newfound grip, Steve lifted Tony just enough to make it easier to get his mouth on a nipple, and if this meant the tented front of Tony’s pants dragged across his body along the way it was only a happy accident.

Hands wound into his hair, gripping tightly, holding Steve in place as he teased with lips, and tongue, and a hint of teeth. Tony tugged him over to the other nipple, humming contentedly when it received the same treatment. Steve already felt drunk on sensation, his hands sliding under Tony’s shirt to skate up and down his back, his skin so warm and smooth.

“I love touching you,” Steve huffed, groaning when Tony yanked on his hair to pull his head back. For a moment, he was staring up into Tony’s face, the next he was falling back onto the bed, Tony’s tongue in his mouth as he was kissed, and kissed, and _kissed_.

So he let his hands continue to roam, sliding up and over and down, needing Tony closer, wanting them both to be naked already, but being too far gone to even consider letting go long enough to make that happen. Tony’s lean, muscular body writhed on top of him, their trapped erections grinding against each other again and again, until Steve was keening.

In a rush, Steve pushed Tony’s shirt off of him, over his shoulders and down his arms, the fabric bunching up at the wrists where the cuffs were still buttoned. For a moment, it left Tony poised awkwardly above him, bowed backwards with his arms all but pinned at the small of his back, the tie still hanging loose, glasses sliding down his nose. Tony’s ass rocked against Steve’s hardness as he tested the hold Steve had on him. He was beautiful, flushed everywhere, mouth hanging open with his pulse jumping in his neck. Steve wanted to freeze him in time, to dedicate his life to studying the strange juxtaposition of strength, vulnerability, and desire on display.

“You make me want to learn how to sculpt,” Steve blurted, releasing his grip on the shirt so Tony could work his hands free, “or carve marble.”

“Says the man who’d make Michelangelo's _David_ look like a waste of materials,” Tony answered.

He’d triumphed over his shirt, tugged the tie free and tossed it across the room. It was practical, yet unfortunate, but Tony plucked the glasses off of his face, and slid them across the large bed where they’d be out of the way. That taken care of, Tony groped his way south, untucked Steve’s shirt, calloused fingers dragging across Steve’s abdomen while he pushed his shirt up his chest.

Steve didn’t help much, aside from lifting his hands above his head so Tony could yank everything up and out of the way. Once this was done he settled his hands on Tony’s hips and rocked up against his ass. “Do you like getting fucked?”

Tony grinned as if he’d been waiting for Steve to get around to asking. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He reached around to stroke Steve through his pants, biting down on his lower lip. “We can try that sometime, if you’re interested.”

“I’m definitely interested.”

Steve yanked Tony down and continued with the kissing. It felt like his skin was on fire. The idea of burying himself inside of Tony was _very_ appealing, but that would be for another time. Besides, just thinking about it had Steve worried he might come in his pants or at the first touch of Tony’s hand on his dick.

As if picking up on his concerns, Tony squirmed around, got a bit of space between them. “Did you jerk off today?” Steve shook his head. “Okay then, here’s what I was thinking,” Tony continued, brushing Steve’s hair back from his forehead. “I was going to suck your cock while playing with your ass. Don’t fight the orgasm, either, it’ll help you relax. Based on witnessing your refractory period first hand I’m willing to bet you’ll be hard again by the time I’m ready to fuck you.”

An almost desperate sound escaped before Steve could scrape together the words required to agree with Tony’s plan, but that was okay, because Tony seemed to appreciate his enthusiasm. “Yes, please,” Steve managed, propping himself up on his elbows.

Tony’s hands made short work of his belt, had his fly open, and then pants and underwear alike were being worked down over Steve’s hips, along his legs, ultimately to be tossed across the room. Tony snagged his socks for him, too, and flung those, leaving Steve fully naked in front of him for the first time. For the briefest of moments, Steve felt panicked, though not over Tony finding him unattractive. And although his eyes lingered briefly on the very obvious bullet wound scars on his right leg, Tony said nothing about them, just flattened a hand against Steve’s chest, right above his frantically beating heart.

“Okay if I take these off, too?” Tony asked quietly, brushing his fingers over the dog tags.

Automatically, Steve’s hand went to the dog tags, wrapped around them until the metal was pressing into his palm. There was no judgement in Tony’s eyes, only understanding, and patience, projecting a willingness to let it slide if Steve was more comfortable keeping them there.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Steve opened his hand and pressed Tony’s palm over the bits of metal instead, holding onto his wrist for a moment. He didn’t trust his voice, so Steve simply nodded and placed his hands at his sides, heart beating frantically as Tony carefully, reverently slid the chain up and over Steve’s head.

When they were gone, Steve felt really and truly naked, but there was a little thrill there, as well. It felt important in ways he was not comfortable examining, and so he reached for Tony, pulling Tony back down on top of him so he could kiss him again, not caring that the fabric of Tony’s clothing felt rough against his erection. The weight of Tony pressing him down into the mattress was a relief, as was his warmth, and the soft, affectionate way his lips teased Steve’s own. Feeling calmer, Steve slid his hands down and around so as to undo Tony’s pants.

With a soft sigh, Tony rolled off of him, so they were lying side by side on the bed. The sheets weren’t white, but Tony still looked amazing sprawled across them. He also groaned loudly when Steve propped himself up on an elbow and reached into his pants to stroke his cock.

“Fuck, I’ve missed that,” Tony sighed, staring down at Steve’s hand, watching the slow, possessive stroking that was happening.

“Me too.” Steve shifted closer, latched onto Tony’s neck again, nibbling and sucking at the skin until a nice, livid mark was left behind. “Missed _you_. Seeing your smile.”

Tony’s hips bucked, while Steve rocked himself against Tony’s thigh and kissed him, slow, and deep, until he felt like he might be able to come from that alone. He was already leaving a sticky little trail on Tony’s pants.

“Mm, let me get naked,” Tony gasped, fingers curling around Steve’s wrist to make him stop stroking.

So he let go, in more ways than one, flopping back against the mattress, tucking a hand up under his head as he watched Tony finish stripping. When he was finally free of his pants, Tony spun and pumped his fist triumphantly, prompting Steve to lose it. He was still laughing when Tony joined him on the bed, the sound trailing off into something far more scandalous at the first pass of Tony’s tongue across the head of his cock.

“Tony, _fuck_!”

“Yes, exactly,” he murmured, licking once more. “Tony fuck. Do me a favor and scootch up the bed for me? Yeah, baby, just like that.”

“Baby?”

Tony grinned and repositioned some of the pillows until Steve was exceedingly comfortable. “What, you don’t like baby?”

“I don’t like baby.” Steve watched as Tony rummaged through his nightstand and came away with lube. “I like hearing you say my name.”

“Mm, well, you’re probably going to hear it a lot tonight.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Tony leaned over, kissed him again, then slid a hand between Steve’s legs, stroking him once, twice, before moving lower, cupping his balls. Then it was lower still, just the tip of Tony’s finger brushing against his opening, light and teasing, Tony’s dark eyes intense whike he watched Steve’s face. Wanting more, he shifted his legs further apart, canted his hips, stroked up across Tony’s back, needing to feel skin beneath his hands.

As Steve watched, Tony opened the lube, squirted a bit out, and moved down the bed. “Wait,” he stammered and Tony froze. “Sorry, is there… You’re too far away,” he explained. “I want to be able to touch you.”

Tony seemed pleased by the request. He shifted around until he was beside Steve, then went to work with pillows. Steve found his hips raised, legs spread even wider, and Tony’s criminally hot mouth sliding down and over the head of his cock.

“ _Tony_ ,” he cried, proud that he was able to keep still and not thrust up into Tony’s mouth. “You feel so good.”

A hungry, satisfied sound rumbled through Tony, giving Steve shivers. Steve made some noises of his own as Tony sucked the head of his dick, teasing into the slit with his tongue, hand stroking down the shaft, and over Steve’s balls before the finger was back to taunt him.

“Remember—” Tony said, pulling away with a wet _pop_.

“Tony, I _definitely_ don’t want you to stop,” Steve interrupted, crying out again when the tip of Tony’s finger breached him, there and gone, and not nearly enough.

Thankfully, he had only been getting more lube, which he rubbed around and around and inside of Steve. “Okay?” Tony asked, sucking along the base of Steve’s prick, finally, _finally_ thrusting his finger all the way inside.

“So much better than okay,” Steve gasped, dragging his fingers through Tony’s hair.

Steve’s skin felt so hot it was a wonder he didn’t set the sheets on fire. He was running the risk of never being able to look at Tony’s hands again without getting hard. He’d used far more lube than Steve had ever bothered with when going solo, but the last thing he was going to do was complain. Steve was too busy being blissed out, lost to the sensation of Tony’s mouth and the finger sliding in and out of his ass.

Keeping still became impossible, so Steve tried to channel the need to move into his hands. He sank the left into Tony’s hair, tugging it gently, the way he knew Tony enjoyed, whilst the right roamed over Tony’s body. Long, sweeping strokes up along the back of his thigh, over his ass, squeezing before sliding along his back, and shoulders, and then down again.

Petting Tony, playing with his hair and trying to remember how to breathe seemed a pretty good use of Steve’s concentration. Tony was sucking with a bit more gusto, the room filling with the wonderfully filthy sound of it, making Steve pant and dig his heels into the mattress.

“Go on,” Tony gasped, sucking his way off of Steve’s cock again. He licked his lips and then all that glorious hot suction was back.

Taking the encouragement as permission, Steve thrust experimentally, groaning as Tony sank down at the same time, taking Steve into the back of his throat, even as Tony’s finger curled, and…

“Fuck!”

Tony was humming when he pulled off this time, his face bright pink, lips beautifully swollen as he stidied Steve through hooded eyes. Steve, on the other hand, had never been more alert, his own eyes wide, heart hammering as he pushed his hips down in an attempt to get Tony’s finger back.

Instead of resuming the blow job, Tony _watched_ , eyes darting as his attention was divided between Steve’s face and the finger he was oh so carefully pushing back into Steve’s ass. Being watched was uncomfortable, but only for a moment. Tony’s finger was stroking him from the inside, but it was only slightly more intense than the look in Tony’s eyes, or the odd thrill coursing through him as Steve realized how much he was _enjoying_ being on display for Tony. Feeling emboldened, Steve took himself in hand, cupping his balls while slowly fisting his cock.

“Steve, you seriously have _no idea_ how hot that is,” Tony croaked.

As if to reward him, Tony’s finger picked up the pace, wriggling, stroking, and, “Fuck,” Steve groaned, because yup, there it was again, the gloriously calloused pad dragging across his prostate. Steve reached out, grabbing hold of Tony’s shoulder, trying and failing to keep the pace slow as he jerked himself off.

Climax building up with an intensity that bordered on agony, Steve cried out in appreciation when Tony’s lips wrapped around him once more. He continued to stroke while Tony sucked and teased at the head of his dick. When Tony pulled away to lick his lips, they were glistening with saliva and precome, prompting Steve to whimper with appreciation.

“Can I come in your mouth?”

Rather than answering, Tony acted, plunging down until his lips were bumping against Steve’s frantic fingers, sucking hard and making an encouraging sound. Inside of Steve, Tony crooked his finger, was relentless, so that Steve was seeing stars as he gasped, poised on the edge, struggling to breathe, and…

“Tony,” he wailed, head tipping back as his entire body went rigid. Then Steve was fighting to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment as he was finally pushed over the edge.

Unable to help himself, Steve stroked up and along the back of Tony’s neck, hand sliding into his hair, caressing the side of his face, petting him even as he came. Tony swallowed rapidly, but come still managed to trickle down Steve’s cock, pooling around his fist, as he shivered and shook through the end of his orgasm.

It felt wrong, when Tony pulled his finger free, but then it mattered less, because Tony was chasing down whatever he’d missed out on swallowing, licking and sucking Steve clean, until he couldn’t take it any longer, and dragged Tony up for a kiss.

“That felt amazing,” he said, chasing down the taste of himself in Tony’s mouth.

They remained tangled together like that for some time, kissing and petting until Steve’s breathing evened out and he felt like he might melt into the mattress.

“Still want to keep going?” Tony asked softly, thumb dragging across Steve’s cheek.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him as he answered. “Yes, please.”

“Turn over for me?” Tony patted his hip and Steve complied, allowed himself to be repositioned. The bed shifted as Tony returned to the nightstand for supplies, saying, “I give a pretty mean backrub.”

Steve was poised to ask why Tony was mentioning it when something was squirted onto his back before strong hands were kneading him like he was dough. “Holy… shit,” Steve managed to huff out, gasping as his muscles gave in completely.

“Don’t hate me, but I’ve been dying to do this since I first laid eyes on you,” Tony confessed. “You’re tense even when relaxed.”

“It’s called, _oh_ , good posture.” Steve grunted as Tony’s thumbs duh between his shoulder blades, the pressure releasing some hidden tension, so that Steve's chest felt open in a way it hadn’t before.

Tony made a soft, knowing noise as he straddled Steve, leaning over to kiss the back of his neck. “No, Steve, that’s called being tense,” he countered, so much tenderness in his voice that Steve couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. “Besides, this feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Feels nice for me, too,” Tony said, shifting lower, strong hands working all the kinks out of Steve’s back. “Getting to touch you like this.”

Sighing, Steve reached behind him until he could brush his fingers against Tony’s thigh, then let his eyes drift closed. He had no idea how long Tony worked his magic, but it was long enough for Steve to begin to feel sleep tugging at his hand. Perhaps sensing he was drifting away, Tony chose that moment to tease his fingers down between Steve’s asscheeks, sending a bolt of pleasure coursing through his body.

“Definitely more of that,” Steve murmured, following it up with a moan when Tony did it again, fingertip pushing inside before skating away.

Tony’s hands slid beneath him, grabbing hold and lifting his hips, then shoving pillows beneath him for support, so that eventually Steve found himself with his ass in the air, legs spread, and blood rushing to his cock. Steve shivered at the feeling of Tony’s hands stroking his calves, then the backs of his thighs, ghosting up to spread his asscheeks apart long enough for Steve to feel wonderfully exposed, before Tony’s hands were moving again.

“You’re gorgeous,” Tony said, spreading him wide once more, making Steve flush.

Pulse already pounding in his cock, Steve let out a long, throaty noise of pleasure when not one, but _two_ of Tony’s slick fingers slowly screwed into his ass. The backs of his thighs tingled, along with his balls, and the base of his spine, as Steve felt himself being worked open.

“Tony, don’t stop,” he gasped when the fingers stilled. It burned, but at the same time, it was lighting a fire inside of Steve.

A warm hand roamed possessively over the curve of Steve’s ass, his hip, along his flank, even as Tony moved his fingers, spreading them apart as much as possible, making Steve feel fuller in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. When Tony twisted his fingers free again to get more lube, Steve shivered, felt himself quivering, attempting to squeeze down on nothing at all.

Tony had said he was going to take his time, and he hadn’t been kidding. The anticipation coiled tighter and tighter within Steve’s chest, and low in his belly,  as he sweat, and rocked himself against the pillows Tony had propped him up on. Two fingers had become three, which had felt like impossibly too much until it hadn’t been nearly enough.

“Please,” Steve gasped, as Tony bit down on the inside of his thigh, before sucking the blood to the surface. “Before I come on your pillows?”

He yelped in surprise when Tony gave him a quick smack to the ass, following it up with a kiss to the same spot, before rolling Steve onto his back. “I want to be able to see you,” Tony said, and _damn_ , but did he look as wrecked as Steve felt.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured, “I like the sound of that.”

Tony’s smile was something else, as was the sight of him sliding on a condom, and lubing himself up. Steve pushed himself up on one elbow, wrapped a hand around Tony’s shoulder, and yanked him down for a rough kiss.

“Nice and slow,” Tony said, thumb teasing back and forth between Steve’s legs, making him shudder. “Make sure you remember to breathe.”

Steve wanted to say something about getting on with it, or that he could handle a little pain, but instead, he focused on taking slow and steady breaths, stroking himself as Tony got comfortable between his thighs. His heart seemed to be working overtime, blood pounding in his cock, in his head, and chest, and throat, as Tony took himself in hand, teasing the head of his prick against Steve’s ass.

There was a split second of panic, fear of the unknown, maybe, or of passing the point of no return, so that as he began to push forward, Tony met only resistance. “It’s okay if you want to stop,” Tony assured him, stroking along Steve’s abdomen.

“I don’t want to stop,” Steve swore, because he very much _did not_. What he wanted was to _jump_ already. That had always been the worst part when parachuting—the waiting around for your turn—which was why Steve was the kind of guy who volunteered to jump first. “Can’t you just—”

“Nope” Tony’s warm, slick fingers wrapped around Steve’s dick, stroking him nice and slow. “That’s not how this works. You have to let me in.”

Steve wondered what his face must look like, because Tony’s expression had shifted subtly, something almost sad there and gone again in his eyes. “I’m trying,” Steve answered, feeling like he was a disappointment, his voice thick, frustration swelling up inside of his chest.

“I know you are,” Tony said, leaning in close. He rocked himself back and forth between Steve’s thighs, the slick length of him making Steve shudder. The weight of Tony’s body pressed Steve down into the bed, Tony’s mouth brushing against his own. “I _know_. I can see that, Steve,” and his lips were so soft, his voice so tender, that suddenly it was impossible to feel anything but how much Tony cared. “You’re trying so hard for me.”

The kiss Tony gave him left Steve breathless, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him from the sudden suspicion that they weren’t talking about sex any longer.

“For right now, though, I need you to let go,” Tony said, eyes searching Steve’s, even as they kissed again.

Steve blinked up at Tony, the words rattling around in his head even as Tony’s hand wrapped around his dick again, stroking and squeezing until Steve’s hips were moving all on their own, trying to thrust into Tony’s hand.

“Only for tonight,” Tony said, freshly lubed fingers returning to Steve’s ass. Tony aimed for his prostate, making Steve groan wantonly, and spread his legs farther apart. “Just for a little while, Steve.”

Breathing in and breathing out, Steve listened to the words, staring up at Tony, wondering why the hell that sounded so fucking terrifying, far more disturbing than the idea of Tony forcing his way inside, and then dealing with the aftermath of pain.

Tony started rubbing the head of his cock against the tight ring of muscle once more, pausing to push a little with each pass, until Steve thought he might lose his mind. He felt out of his depth, and desperate, the emptiness threatening to swallow him whole. Tony’s fingers weren’t enough any more, and yet his cock felt insurmountable. How the hell was he supposed to _let go_? What did that even mean?

“Hey,” Tony said, and Steve looked up, found himself snared by Tony’s eyes. “There you are,” he murmured, smiling. “Lost you to your thoughts for a minute there.”

For no reason whatsoever, this made Steve whimper, breath catching in his throat on an exhale.

“It’s okay,” Tony promised, and, _oh_ , _yes_ , two fingers teasing into his ass, sending sparks of heat and pleasure through his body. “Let go, Steve.”

With a moan, Steve pushed himself onto Tony’s fingers, heart tripping in his chest. Above him, Tony was a beautiful wreck, hair wild, muscles taut, covered in a light sheen of sweat. Steve reached for him, trembling hands curling over Tony’s shoulders, squeezing tight. A third finger, and his entire body shook, fatigue and anticipation and desperation.

“I’m right here,” Tony said, and, “it’s just you and me,” while lowering himself to cover Steve’s body with his own once more.

“Please,” Steve gasped, wrapping his arms around Tony, sharing a sloppy kiss. “ _Tony_ , I need… I want...”

“You’ve _got_ me, Steve,” Tony promised, “you’re so close,” and this time, there was a world of pressure and burning, as the head of Tony’s cock slowly sank into him. Steve keened, tensing up until he remembered to breathe again.

“You can do it, Steve. Let go,” Tony encouraged, the words coming hot against his skin, before Tony was kissing him, pushing his sweat soaked hair back away from his forehead. “I’ve got you, I promise, you don’t have to worry about anything, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Steve stared up into Tony’s eyes, heart fluttering wildly in his chest, even as his body shook. It was like riding the edge of orgasm, or the blissful moment in a workout where he finally admitted defeat, his body rewarding him by dumping endorphins into his system.

Looking into Tony’s eyes, Steve managed to forget all about sex. All he ever did was fight, and hold on tight, terrified that a moment’s weakness would mean everything—his entire life—falling to pieces around him. Letting go was… _alien_ , as alien as the way Tony’s laugh had captivated him earlier in the evening, as unfamiliar as the need to rush to his side, to claim him with a kiss in front of almost everyone he knew.

“Scared _together_ , Steve,” Tony whispered, everything else quietly falling by the wayside, tiny and unimportant compared to what he saw in Tony’s eyes.

Together. He could have a _together_ with Tony, an entire future, good or bad, but _attainable_. There, falling to pieces in Tony’s bed, the possibility of it all felt real to Steve in a way it never had before, his foundations shaking at the prospect. Steve sucked air into his lungs, and it sounded too much like a sob, but did that matter? It was only the two of them there, and Tony wasn’t going to judge him or tease him, because they were _together_. They were a team, just the two of them, an exclusive club; _Steve and Tony_. And god, he wanted that, he _needed_ that, needed _Tony_.

“That’s it,” Tony encouraged softly, pressure and pain, but Steve’s body was already singing a promise of pleasure to him. “You and me, Steve. I’ve got you now, let go.”

A low, desperate sound tore through the silence of the room as Steve exhaled all in a rush, crying out, holding onto Tony for dear life, even as he _let go_ , stopped fighting, trusted Tony to take the reins for a while, keep them safe. There was the edge of pain, but that was distant, was drowned out by the wild, unfamiliar sounds Steve found himself making as his body finally opened to Tony’s intrusion.

“Oh, yes, _beautiful_ , Steve,” Tony gushed, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he slowly, _slowly_ managed to get the head of his cock completely past the tight ring of muscle. “Just like that, perfect.”

Steve swallowed, choked out, “ _Oh my god_ , Tony,” as he was filled, and filled, and _filled_. Tiny, persistent rocking motions made his thighs tremble as Tony pushed deeper and deeper into his ass. Somehow, Steve managed to stretch, and open, and accommodate, until Tony was kissing him again, was completely sheathed, balls nestled against Steve’s bottom.

The fullness was uncomfortable at first, but Steve allowed himself to be distracted from that by the feeling of Tony’s chest heaving against his own, their breathing having synched up. Of the fingers tangling with his, pressing his hands down into the mattress above his head. Of the surreality of having Tony nestled deep inside of him, where nobody had ever been before.

“Doing okay?” Tony asked, rocking his hips experimentally.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” was all Steve could come up with. He pushed against Tony’s hands, sighing contentedly when the smaller man put his leverage to good use and held Steve in place. He felt wrung out, weak, but there was a wonderful sense of relief mixed in with the sensation. “M’okay, yeah.”

“Let me know if I need to stop,” Tony said, even as he rocked himself free again.

Steve swallowed around sudden panic. He didn’t want to be empty, not again. “Don’t pull out all the way.”

“It’s okay, I won’t, not yet,” Tony promised. He let go of Steve’s hands, which was a shame. “Want to get some more lube into you, though. Hang on.”

Steve did as he was told, grabbing onto the backs of his own thighs, giving Tony even more room to work. A thrill of pride ran through him at the noise this got from Tony, but then he was distracted by the hot, unfamiliar, insistent slide of cock in his ass, and couldn’t think of much of anything at all.

Slow, slow, _slow_ , so that every last inch of his body seemed to be vibrating with sensation, leaving Steve blissed out, and beautifully overstimulated. Each careful thrust brought another wave of contentment with it, was punctuated by the sound of Tony’s tiny gasps of pleasure, and Steve’s louder moans.

Before he quite knew what was happening, Tony was moving easily, sliding in and out of Steve’s ass, so much more intense than the feeling of his fingers, or of anything Steve had ever prepared himself for. He felt like a beautifully blissed out ragdoll, weak limbed, but helping as best he could when Tony shifted, pushing on the backs of his thighs to change the angle of Steve’s hips.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve gasped, as his cock dragged against Steve’s prostate, leaving him seeing spots.

A slow, steady roll of hips, Tony’s mouth crushing against his, sharing a fierce kiss. “Steve, you feel _perfect_ ,” Tony hissed, resting his forehead against Steve’s shoulder for a moment. “You’re so tight it should be illegal.”

Steve lowered his legs, shifted, wrapping them around Tony and crossing them at the ankles as he rocked his hips, meeting Tony’s thrusts. That was good, wrapping himself tightly around Tony, holding on as their chests heaved together, Tony’s hips never slowing.

Steve dragged his lips across searing, sweat slick skin, and breathed in the heady scent of Tony and sex. Again and again, he found himself overwhelmed—that was _Tony Stark’s cock in his ass_ —but then uncaring. For the moment, he didn’t need to worry about anything, could let everything else in the world drift away from him, allow himself to be taken care of.

Tony found his mouth again, teeth tugging at Steve’s lower lip, and it was _wonderful_ , Tony smiling down at him, eyes bright with adoration. In that moment, Steve felt joyous, overwhelmingly so, as if he’d finally figured out exactly where he belonged.

“Just like that, Steve,” Tony encouraged, sliding an arm beneath Steve’s neck, fingers curling around his shoulder, supporting Steve’s head even as he kissed him again. The angle was better this time, made it easier for their mouths to meet over and over, while Tony fucked him nice and slow and deep.

Then they were moving together, synchronous and perfect, skin slick with sweat, Tony a wonderful weight on top of him. Steve stroked everywhere he could reach, buried his fingers in the damp tangle of Tony’s hair, as he rolled his hips, rubbing himself against Tony’s abdomen, taking him deeper and harder, lost to the sensation of Tony _everywhere_.

Steve wanted more, wanted everything, wanted it to never stop. Tony’s eyes were two dark pools, and Steve couldn’t look away. They were his anchor, or his lifeline, something keeping him tethered and safe.

Tony shifted upright a bit, and wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock. “Feel good?” he asked, biting down into his lower lip.

Steve moaned, rocked his hips, eagerly meeting each of Tony’s thrusts. He shuddered, watching Tony’s thumb come away shiny and sticky after it swept over the head of his cock. “Good doesn’t come close, Tony.”

Then Tony made his eyes roll into the back of his head by significantly picking up the pace, adjusting the depth and angle of his penetration, four gloriously hard thrusts slamming into Steve’s ass. “Still okay?”

“Oh _fuck_ , more of that,” Steve begged, beyond caring what he might sound like at this point. Slow had been amazing, but that? Had been like an electric shock of pleasure.

Tony didn’t disappoint, grabbed his hips, fucking Steve a little harder, faster, each thrust punctuated by the sound of the air leaving Steve’s lungs, as he whimpered, and let go even more.

Steve squeezed down around Tony, making him moan, hips losing some of their steady pace in response. It felt like a victory, hearing Tony cry his name. Steve dug his heels into Tony’s ass encouragingly, even as he found his hands once again above his head, pinned to the bed. Steve wasn’t sure what it said about him that this made his toes curl, his entire body shuddering with pleasure.

“Oh, you _like_ that,” Tony purred, grinning a wicked little grin as he twined his fingers with Steve’s, and pushed down harder.

“Yes,” Steve moaned, cock now so hard he was dribbling precome onto his stomach.

If he wanted, he could easily throw Tony off of him, but that wasn’t the point. It was something else entirely, served as a reminder, perhaps, that he’d managed to acquiesce, put Tony in charge for the evening. And since that was the case, there was no need to probe at the reasons _why_ he enjoyed it, not when he could let everything go instead. Arch his back in an attempt to rub himself against Tony, while simultaneously trying to take his cock deeper, Tony’s hands still pinning his own to the bed.

“I want to feel you come around my cock,” Tony announced, and Steve _quaked_.

Tony shifted so his arms were behind Steve’s legs, spreading him wide, Steve’s knees now somewhere in the vicinity of his ears as he was folded like a deck chair. One of Tony’s hands slipped beneath Steve’s head, cradling the back of his neck, while the other was braced on the bed.

It felt awkward, but amazing, especially once Tony thrusted again, rapid, shallow, the head of his cock nailing Steve’s prostate over and over again. Whining with pleasure, Steve stared up into Tony’s face, so close, so beautifully determined, grabbed the back of his neck to pull him down for a quick kiss, while the other hand slid between their bodies, and wrapped around his dick.

“Fuck, _Steve_ , yeah, touch yourself,” Tony groaned. “Gorgeous, just like that.”

Steve stroked himself faster, lost to pleasure, begging mixed in with praise, sweat making his eyes sting, but he refused to look away. The expression on Tony’s face was too good to miss, should have been the subject of a renaissance painting, sublime and beautiful.

They were both so close. Steve could feel the pressure of his own orgasm building up, refusing to be contained, even as Tony whimpered, and surged forward for another kiss. Steve needed to _let go_ all over again, to trust that they’d be able to share this with each other again, and again. This time, letting go felt like a promise, a commitment, like a way to show Tony he was trusted, and cared for, and…

“Oh, _Steve_ ,” Tony moaned, and that was it, the sound of his name falling from Tony’s lips tipping him over the edge.

With a shout of triumph, Steve’s entire body went rigid, every muscle standing out in tension before the shock of release rolled through him, washing everything else away. He’d never had an orgasm so intense, cried out his pleasure as he spasmed around Tony’s cock, emptying himself in a hot rush, semen splattering onto his chest, and the underside of his chin. It felt like it went on forever, Tony fucking the orgasm right out of him, until Steve was a wrung out, panting, wreck of a man left gasping against the soaked bed linens.

Tony was grinning, said, “That was beautiful,” even as he lowered himself into the mess so he could kiss Steve.

Arms and legs and hands; Steve held onto him tight, keeping Tony close, rocking his softening, oversensitive cock against the warmth of Tony’s body. Although the idea of him pulling out sounded like the worst possible thing that could happen, Steve wanted to be able to see Tony come, wanted…

“Come in my mouth?” he begged, watching the way Tony’s eyes went wide and hungry at his words.

“Yeah?”

Steve nodded, and even that felt like an effort. “Want to taste you.”

“Okay, hang on.” He did, whimpering as Tony slowly, slowly extracted himself, leaving Steve empty, and twitching, desperately trying to clamp down on nothing at all. “I know, that part sucks,” Tony said, rubbing his thumb soothingly around the quivering ring of muscle.

Steve stroked Tony’s thighs, happy for the distraction of watching him remove the condom before Tony moved up to the head of the bed, kneeling over Steve. His cock was dark with arousal, veins standing out starkly, the head shiny. Propping himself up on an elbow, Steve shifted closer, petting Tony everywhere he could reach, even as he opened his mouth in expectation.

Tony was so close it took hardly any effort at all, even if it felt like a moment suspended in time. One of Tony’s hands pumped furiously, as he whimpered, and gasped, while the other cradled Steve’s head possessively, thumb stroking over the hinge of his jaw, fingers tangled in Steve’s damp hair. Steve opened wider, gazed up at Tony adoringly, and moaned in sympathetic pleasure as Tony finally came, thick, hot ribbons of the stuff, splashing onto Steve’s tongue, down his throat, then across his chin, and even his cheek.

He was still swallowing when Tony straddled him again, both hands in Steve’s hair this time as he held him in place, chased down the taste of himself, carefully licking Steve clean before kissing him.

It was bliss. There was no other word for it. Contentment, and pleasure, and Steve wanted to hold onto Tony and never let go again. They clung to each other, a sweaty, sticky tangle of limbs, breathing heavily, touching and squeezing, the kiss a slow counterpoint to the fading urgency of release.

And then Tony was sprawled beside him, Steve draped half over his beautiful body, head tucked under Tony’s chin, and arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

“How’re you feeling?” Tony asked, his voice deep, and a bit ragged.

“Ah, a little like I’ve been wasting my life up until this point,” Steve said, momentarily terrified by the truth in those words, before he found himself laughing. “Sorry, I’m not—”

“Oh no, I get it,” Tony interrupted, squeezing him tight and pressing a kiss to his nose. “I’m a little overwhelmed myself. You are amazing, Steve Rogers.”

“Me? That was all you,” Steve swore, smiling as Tony’s mouth shifted lower, brushed against his own.

“Nope, that was _us_ ,” Tony said, and Steve felt a little like crying, was unsure why, “together.”

“Together,” he agreed, the happiness feeling especially volatile within his chest. “I’m so glad I waited. I can’t imagine… I don’t think I could have done that with anyone else, Tony.”

There weren’t words for the look in Tony’s eyes, so Steve knew he understood what wasn’t being said. It wasn’t the mechanics of sex—anyone could do that—it was everything else. Trust. Being able to let go, knowing Tony would take care of him, would make sure he was in a position to be put back together again at the end of it all, and that was something Steve absolutely could not fathom sharing with another person. Only Tony.

Tony caressed his cheek, sweet, possessive strokes of fingertips along Steve’s jaw, as he kissed him once more. “I’m glad, too,” he said, but his eyes said so much more.

Steve’s heart seemed to skip a beat, emotions bubbling up inside of him, but they were overwhelmingly good for a change, were all for Tony; appreciation, and longing, and something so crazily intense that he was scared to give it a name. So he didn’t bother, just let himself feel _everything_ , even though it was terrifying. Besides, Tony was right there, was still holding him safe, kissing Steve’s face, and petting his hair.

With a contented sigh, Steve tugged Tony closer, then grimaced. Tony laughed at him, shaking both of them in the process, Steve joining in a moment later. “Yeah, we’re fucking filthy, aren’t we? Think you’re up for a shower?”

“Not sure if my legs work, but I’m willing to try,” Steve answered. He stretched, smiling to himself, every last inch of him feeling loose, and sated. “Messy or not, I don’t think I’ve been so relaxed since… ever.”

“It’s a good look on you.” Tony winked at him, pressed a kiss against his navel, then got out of the bed, pausing to snatch his glasses up from the floor. Apparently they’d knocked them off the bed at some point, along with a couple of the pillows. “Stay put, I’ll come back for you.”

So Steve did as instructed, allowed himself to sprawl, limbs feeling wonderfully heavy, and light at the same time, his head gloriously empty. With the endorphins lessening, his ass felt sore, but in a good way, like the satisfying ache he’d be left with after a particularly challenging day spent with the heavy bag, or the weights. The sensation continued up inside of him, though, as if his body wanted to remind him that not so very long ago, Tony had been there.

The sound of the shower drifted into the room. When Tony reappeared, he had juice, trail mix, and a stack of fresh bed linens. “You’re a genius,” Steve groaned, crawling across the bed to devour the snacks. He hadn’t noticed before, but he was thirsty, and sort of starving.

“So they tell me.” Tony tossed the linens onto a chair, then helped himself to a sip of juice, and a handful of trail mix. “Let’s get cleaned up, and then we can sprawl to our heart's’ content.”

Then it was being led into the bathroom, Tony holding his hand as they went, tugging him into the criminally large shower. Water sprayed from all directions, the dual showerheads a marvel, heat and steam and a slick Tony Stark leaving Steve feeling as if he was already asleep and dreaming.

Steve was yawning, even as Tony washed him clean, the two of them holding each other tight under the spray of water, exchanging kisses. Steve couldn’t remember ever feeling so contented, or playful. The scrubbing led to flinging handfuls of foam at each other, splashing with water, laughter transforming to a choked off moan when Tony set to washing his hair. Strong fingers, scrubbing away, until Steve felt like he might fall asleep standing up.

“Let’s get you back in bed,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

And then he was toweled dry, and stuffed into a robe that was too small, but plush, and wonderful nonetheless. Steve toyed with the belt as he swayed on his feet in Tony’s room, watching as his boyfriend made quick work of the bed linens.

“Need an alarm set?” Tony asked, shaking out blankets, and rearranging pillows.

Steve shook his head. “I’m all yours tomorrow, if you want me,” he answered sleepily.

“I definitely want you.”

Tony took him by the hand again, pausing to disrobe him before helping Steve into the bed. He groaned in delight and relief, eyes already fluttering closed as the lights were turned off. Steve sighed contentedly when he felt Tony climb into bed beside him.

Unable to resist, Steve rolled onto his side, and dragged Tony in close, wrapped himself around the smaller man until he had his nose pressed into damp hair. “S’this okay?” he asked, sounding drunk.

Tony was quiet for a moment. “ _Very_ okay,” he answered, pressing himself into the embrace, voice thick with emotion.

“Happy New Year, Tony,” Steve murmured against the back of Tony’s head.

“Happy New Year, Steve,” he heard as sleep dragged him away at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, _that_ happened. 
> 
> First, one clever commenter mentioned that Rhodey outranks Steve, and brought up the salute in Ch.13. Good catch, dear friend! This has to do with Steve being a Medal of Honor recipient. While not explicitly stated, that was the reason he got a little weird over Rhodes saluting him. I'm sure he's jumped to the correct conclusion that Rhodes has gotten his eyes on Steve's military service record. Considering he was awarded the MOH for the events surrounding the loss of Bucky's arm, it isn't something he's particularly comfortable with.
> 
> Rhodey snuck in a shovel talk. Mwa ha ha. Show of hands for surprise? And... no one. Good. Also, I couldn't resist making Loki a magician. The "imagine" gang gave me permission to keep that in there. Meanwhile, SEX. And, Steve, there's a word for that feeling you get when everything in the room that isn't Tony seems to fall away, and become unimportant. Check yourself, for you've contracted LOVE, my friend. Get used to it, because it isn't going anywhere.
> 
> Side note, I'm stupidly excited to see that the story now has over 1K of kudos. I know it's sort of silly, but it really does make me smile. And so many of you scream at me after each chapter!! It's AMAZING. Thanks for sharing the love. It keeps writers motivated!! :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time has a way of passing without notice. One day follows another, until Tony finds himself realizing that—despite all the progress he and Steve have made with one another—he doesn't feel any closer to meeting Peter than he did the year before. Bucky might not have come around to sympathize, or gossip, but he certainly offers Tony new insight into Steve, whether Tony is ready to know the truth, or not.

It was strange. Despite all the anguishing Tony had done over being on the outside looking in, finding himself dragged front and center into Steve’s life was taking some getting used to. Not in a bad way, necessarily. There was definitely a surreality to the experience, though, especially in those moments where Steve was otherwise occupied, and Tony was left unsupervised around one of Steve’s friends, or—in this case—his brother.

“Clint is gonna be jealous as fuck,” Bucky crowed, snapping another photo.

Tony grinned, rocking on his heels with his hands in his pockets. “I actually specced everything out when I was nine, but didn’t get the chance to build him until I was at MIT.”

Bucky tugged his hair out of its sloppy bun, and ran his fingers through it. “Will it make me a total asshole if I ask you to take one of us together?”

“No, give it,” Tony answered, accepting Bucky’s phone, and lining up the shot. He waited for Steve’s brother to crouch down, and mug for the camera, then took a few photos. “Beautiful,” he added when Bucky posed theatrically, looking off into the distance, shiny metal hand on the droid. “Think of two suns… and, perfect! I think that’s as good as it gets.”

“I can’t believe you have a fully operational R2-D2 replica and Steve never mentioned it _once_ ,” Bucky complained, his flesh and blood thumb flying over the screen of his phone as he sent a photo to Clint.

Steve had been in the workshop a handful of times since his inaugural visit on the first day of the year. After marveling over discovering Peter’s letter and artwork had indeed been framed and proudly displayed, Steve had been so taken by the holographic interface Tony had designed that they’d never made it through the entire tour.

The workshop was Tony’s safe space, and as much as he liked showing it off, it still felt strange to have Steve spending time there in his inner sanctum. In fact, every subsequent visit had been initiated by Steve. Once upon a time, Steve might have fired off a text to see if Tony had interest in a quickie; now he would call, ask almost shyly if it was alright if he swung by for an hour or so, and then show up with food, coffee, and his sketchbook. Stranger still, he didn’t mind if Tony continued working, was more than willing to make himself comfortable on the couch, sketching out commissions until he had to leave, either for an appointment, or to pick up Peter.

Like his brother, Bucky had also made a beeline for Peter’s art, grinning wildly with his arms folded across his chest, and the oddest look of pride on his face. Once this was done, he’d straight up ignored the fantastical objects surrounding him, and pointed to a familiar tarp-covered shape, demanding to know, “what’s under there?”

Tony shrugged, and gave the R2 unit a little pat on the head. “Uh, I don’t know if he noticed it, actually.”

“What, too busy looking into your eyes,” Bucky suggested, wiseass smile in full effect, “or at your ass?”

Tony’s laugh escaped despite his attempt to hold it in. Something about Bucky’s easy acceptance of him was disconcerting, and had been since the beginning. Which was crazy, but whatever, it made Tony nervous. To say that Bucky was important to Steve was like saying hydrogen was kind of a noteworthy element.

“Something like that.”

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder before doing a full circuit of the room, eyes roaming around assessingly, the smile never wavering, despite the odd intensity about the man. Tony watched him peripherally, wondering why it was all the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up at attention.

“This is all very cool, by the way,” Bucky announced, shiny finger tracing a circle in the air as he took it all in. “Petey would most definitely lose his mind.”

Tony ignored the opening, and fired up his diagnostic program instead, heart tripping away in his chest. There was no reason to feel like Bucky was attempting to provoke him somehow, but that was the reality of the situation. Maybe Bucky could sense it, because he stopped prowling, and sprawled in his seat like some giant cat-man hybrid.

“Steve tell you the kid’s been watchin’ those promo videos you sent on a fuckin’ loop?” Bucky’s eyes were steady, intense, out of step with his easy smile.

“Yeah, he mentioned that,” Tony answered cautiously. “I’m going to have you perform some baseline functionality tests to start, see how everything is responding with the current model.”

Tony tapped in a series of commands, loading the program, turning on some background music at the same time. As the interface sprung to life in the air around him, a section of the floor hissed, metal panels sliding open as his diagnostic equipment rose up and settled into place a couple feet from where Bucky was sitting.

“This is so cool,” Bucky said, sitting up straight in his chair. “I think it’s a good thing, by the way.”

“Hm?”

“The videos. Steve letting Pete watch ‘em. Shit, letting them in the apartment, even.”

Bucky was eyeballing the electrodes Tony was sorting through, but he likely didn’t miss the way Tony’s hands stilled momentarily in response to his words. “Oh yeah?”

“Stevie spent the first couple months I had this trying not to let on how much it freaked him out,” Bucky explained. “I was wearing long sleeves and a glove in August, sweatin’ my ass off for that punk.”

Tony tried and failed to act like this wasn’t news to him, eyes snapping up to meet Bucky’s, then looking down again. His heart was beating faster now, mind whirring away. Hearing it didn’t surprise him, exactly, it was more that Bucky had gone and told him about it that had Tony confused, and maybe a little concerned. Worse still was how easy it was for him to imagine Steve steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that his brother’s arm was no longer made of flesh and blood.

“The things we do for love,” Tony joked weakly. He held up the electrode cap, and motioned for Bucky to wheel his chair closer. “Guessing you’ve had on one of these before.”

“Yup,” Bucky answered. “Need the shirt off now?”

“Might as well, for the sake of efficiency.”

Bucky had his shirt up and off without hesitation, draping it over the back of his chair before sitting upright on the edge of the seat. He wasn’t as muscular as Steve, but still clearly took very good care of himself. Other than the obvious ones around his shoulder, Bucky was sporting some angry looking scars, which wasn’t surprising, as well as a variety of tattoos done in different styles, something more intrinsically carefree about them than Steve’s very deliberate body-art.

While Bucky tugged on the cap, Tony placed the electrodes on his body, apologizing for the coolness of the conducting gel. Once Bucky was all hooked up, Tony watched him fish out his phone, make a ridiculous face, and snap a selfie.

“Sorry. Clint,” he said by way of explanation, grinning as he sent off a message.

“He’s more than welcome to join the party.”

Tony half hoped Bucky would take him up on the offer, so he’d have someone else there with them to stave off any potential awkwardness. Not that he was scared of Steve’s brother, just that… Well. Okay, maybe he _was_ scared. He’d yet to receive anything even resembling a shovel talk from any of Steve’s friends, and had a sneaking suspicion that today might be the day Bucky made up for that oversight.

“Nah. He’s booked solid today.” Bucky looked down at his phone, smiling softly to himself before doing some more thumb tapping, and holding it aloft. “Lookit this knucklehead, though.”

There was a photo of Clint sprawled across a couch, having apparently fallen asleep while in the middle of eating a sandwich. While Clint snoozed with his mouth hanging open, Lucky happily helped himself, eating the sandwich off of Clint’s stomach. Despite his nervousness, or because of it, Tony laughed, not missing the way Bucky’s eyes went soft when he looked at the photo again before stuffing the phone into his pocket.

“Suitable for framing,” Tony said, feeling his heart give a little jump.

He might not have a phone full of photos of Steve, but his new favorite of all time had been taken just the week before, and featured a sleepy eyed, sated Steve Rogers smiling with sweet indulgence while flipping off the camera. His normally neat and tidy hair was neither, and as a bonus, Steve was shirtless, and leaning back against Tony’s kitchen counter, all loose-limbed while waiting on the first cup of coffee of the day, pajama pants riding low on his hips. 

Shoving aside the mental image before it became too distracting, Tony refocused on the task at hand.

“Right, so, you’ll see a big floating start button, which you’ll hit when ready, and then it’ll walk you through a series of tasks meant to be completed with the prosthetic. I’m assuming the VA had you do something similar when you entered the program.”

Bucky grinned up at him. “Yeah, but it was all meatspace, man, nothing nearly as _Star Trek_ as all this. Hey, before we start, is there any way to do customization on the prosthetics?”

“Uh, definitely going to need you to be more specific,” Tony said. “Are we talking, like, one of your fingers being a refillable lighter, or laser blasts shooting from the palm, or—”

Bucky snorted, and started waving his hands in the air. “I was thinkin’ along the lines of body art, but the finger-lighter sounds pretty cool, actually. Is that really an option?”

Tony shook his head. “Nope, no way, Steve would kill me for encouraging your filthy habit.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a monster,” Bucky mumbled, fiddling with his phone again, before pointing to a tattoo on his right shoulder. “This little guy used to be part of a matched set,” he explained before handing the phone over. “Steve found Clint’s original drawings, and I was kinda hoping I could get my little devil back.”

Tony stared at the phone, did a little pinch and zoom, and then burst out laughing. Cartoons or not, they were very obviously angel and devil versions of Clint Barton. “You had not one, but _two_ drawings of your boyfriend tattooed on yourself?”

Bucky grinned. “Oh yeah. And he wasn’t even suckin’ my dick back when I had ‘em done, either.”

Groaning felt like an appropriate response, so Tony opted for that, but he also forwarded the image to himself before returning the phone. “Artwork is a different story altogether. I’ll be doing a custom fabrication for you anyway. I’m assuming you want permanent paint, and not a removeable decal?”

“Permanent as I can get,” Bucky answered, his eyes sparkling. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, no problem. Since we moved away from the vent-plates in the new design, we also offer a flesh-tone paint job. You don’t have to stick with the shiny.”

Surprisingly, Bucky shook his head. “Nah. I don’t need to pretend like that. I like it better this way. It feels more honest, or something. Besides, I’d have to stop makin’ Robocop jokes, and where’s the fun in that?”

“Good point.”

With a flourish, Bucky started the program, and set to work, Tony watching the data dump, slowly relaxing as he ran the numbers in his head. Even with the older model, Bucky’s response rate was excellent; he was clearly an ideal candidate for the latest and greatest prototype, which was a relief. The last thing Tony wanted to do was disappoint the one member of Steve’s family he’d actually met.

Tony shoved roughly at the melancholy before it could settle in his chest, reminding himself of all the progress he’d made on that front. Even though they hadn’t met yet, he knew for a fact that he was no longer a secret where Steve’s fathers were concerned, which was good, and maybe a little terrifying. Tony would be lying if he said he didn’t break out in a cold sweat over the idea of Steve’s parents doing a bit of online research about their son’s boyfriend.

Then there was Peter. Gone were the days where getting an answer about Peter’s wellbeing was like pulling teeth, but despite the building momentum in their relationship, Tony felt like he was no closer to meeting the boy than he’d been back on their first date. In some ways, the new arrangement was worse than being shut out entirely.

Steve hadn’t said as much, but Tony was fairly certain he was a frequent topic of conversation in the Rogers household. Tony wanted to be optimistic about the development, but at the same time, there was something altogether disheartening about the arrangement. Tony didn’t know of anyone else whose relationship with their significant other’s kid was run like some sort of CIA black ops affair, with the parent playing the role of handler. Sure, Peter knew who he was, but his knowledge of Tony was entirely filtered through Steve. Peter wouldn’t be able to identify him in a lineup, and didn’t have any insight into Tony’s actual personality.

Tony had received a lovely thank you letter for his Christmas gifts, and a new drawing seemed to come his way about once a week, which was amazing, as was Steve’s newfound willingness to talk about his son without prompting. All this meant, though, was that Tony was now even _more_ desperate to meet Peter, so they could actually nerd out face to face.

Perhaps understandably, Tony had been unable to bring himself to open his mouth and be blunt about the situation, opting instead to introduce opportunities into a conversation for Steve to take that final plunge. Subtly wasn’t always a thing that worked with Steve, and so as of late, Tony had changed tactics.

Knowing some of the reason Steve was stressed over them meeting was the whole ‘daddy has a boyfriend’ conversation he'd have to have, Tony was happy to continue playing the role of Steve's good friend. Since they _were_ friends, it wasn't even a lie. With that in mind, he'd started looking for non-threatening event based activities they could do together. There had been an all ages night at the planetarium, a new exhibition on dinosaurs Tony thought Peter might go crazy for, and a handful of other science related, kid friendly outings he’d mentioned to Steve. To say Steve evaded any sort of definitive answer was putting it mildly, which meant—whether he liked it or not—Tony was going to need to initiate an _actual_ conversation on the topic, even though he knew it would result in being shot down.

There were days when Tony pessimistically looked upon the arrangement as proof of Steve’s uncertainty where their relationship was concerned, which usually led to him then feeling like an asshole, since it was impossible to deny how very hard Steve was trying to make up for his prior behavior. There was genuine intimacy in their relationship where none had been before, Steve exhibiting an endearing level of earnestness since their Big Conversation. When he considered the leaps and bounds made between the two of them in the last few months, it seemed almost petty to be so focused on what he _didn’t_ have. Progress was still progress. Steve had asked him to be patient about Peter, and a little more waiting wasn’t going to kill him. Probably.

As if somehow picking up on his thoughts, Bucky cleared his throat, and started talking again. “So, how’re things going with you and Steve?”

There was an odd tumbling sensation in Tony’s chest, as if his heart and stomach were trying to trade places. “Shouldn’t you be asking your brother that question?”

Bucky’s eyes shifted, pinning Tony, even as he continued to perform the tasks set to him by the program, not missing a beat. “Right,” he drawled, “so I can get the standard Steve Rogers response to any question about how he’s doing, ever. _Fine_.” Bucky snorted, and refocused on the test. “Steve could be on fire and still try to convince people he’s fine.”

Tony blinked his surprise, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Sorry. I’m obviously freakin’ you out.” Bucky sighed, doing his wrist rotations. “Look, this isn’t some elaborate trap, and I ain’t about to start with the whole, ‘if you hurt him, you answer to me,’ song and dance, either.”

“Then what is this, exactly?”

Bucky was quiet for long enough that Tony wondered if he was going to get any sort of answer at all. Then, as if having come to a decision, Bucky straightened up, and started talking, any hint of playfulness or sarcasm very much absent from his voice.

“Honestly? I don’t know what to call it. Me trying to form an alliance, maybe.”

Tony wasn’t comforted by those words, not even close, and with a sigh of resignation, he suspended the test, prompting Bucky to swivel and look at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry, was that answer supposed to freak me out _less_?” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, then sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, waiting. “Come on. Let’s get whatever this is over with.”

To his credit, Bucky had the decency to look contrite. Tony watched him chewing on his lower lip, tried to distract himself with all the weird that was hanging out with Steve’s brother when he was shirtless and covered with electrodes. He still felt on high alert, though, was prepared for some sort of attack on his character, not for Bucky’s eyes to fill up with tears.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, wiping hurriedly at his eyes before exhaling in a rush, and clearing his throat. “Look, this ain’t easy for me, okay? Clint’s talked me outta coming to see you at least a dozen times, but that doesn’t sit right with me, not anymore.”

Tony tried and failed to keep his nerves in check, but there were about a thousand alarm bells going off in his mind, and the little voice in his head was recommending he make a run for it while he still could. The rest of him was too caught up by the pleading in Bucky’s eyes, and his own damnable curiosity.

“This might go a bit smoother if you came right out and said, or asked, or _whatever_ , rather than talking around things,” Tony suggested, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “Before you do, I’m just going to state for the record that I take having Steve’s trust very seriously, so if you’re looking for gossip, you’re in the wrong place.”

Bucky was already shaking his head, hand flying up as if he was going to play with his hair, confusion momentarily flickering across his face when his fingers encountered the cap and electrodes instead. He rolled his eyes, presumably at himself, then squared his shoulders again, and cleared his throat.

“Right, straight shooting. Always was good at that,” he said, the impish smile returning for a moment. “Sniper and all,” Bucky added, pointing to himself, “get it?”

Tony nodded, processing the new data. Bucky’s assessing gaze and odd intensity now made sense in a way it hadn’t before.

“I’m only doing this ‘cause I can see how much you love my brother,” Bucky announced, and yup, panic, full fledged, hitting Tony right in the solar plexus. It must have been obvious, too, because Bucky aimed a sad little smile at him. “Guessin’ you haven't said as much to Stevie?”

“No,” Tony admitted quietly.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my mouth shut. For what it’s worth, from where I’m standin’? He feels the same.”

That was something Tony hadn’t expected to hear, and had no response for. It was a close thing, but he managed to bite back any denials, despite his mind flooding with assurances that this likely wasn’t the case whatsoever. Sure, things were worlds better, and Steve obviously cared about him, but _love_?

Proving his observancy, Bucky shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. When he looked up again, his blue eyes were almost fierce. “Look, I’m just going by what I’ve seen,” Bucky swore. “Steve doesn’t let people in easily, Tony. Or at all. Even family. Been that way since we were kids. The PTSD made it about a hundred times worse, no surprise.”

A cold, sick sort of dread washed over Tony, and it had nothing to do with the L word, and Bucky’s conviction that Steve felt the same way. No, it was the challenging look in Bucky's eyes as he dropped PTSD into the conversation as if this was a known quantity. Tony opened his mouth, closed it again, and processed.

The problem was, Tony wanted to deny the words as if they were an unfair accusation, but if he was being at all honest with himself, the reality was that he _knew_ Bucky was right. What worried Tony was being unable to pinpoint when, exactly, he'd figured that out, and then decided to ignore it, opting to play along with Steve's ‘everything is fine’ approach instead. It fit, though, it explained so much, and also meant… Well. _Shit_.

“Just so we’re clear, there’s no judgment at play. I’ve been there.” Bucky was clearly waiting for a reaction. “Believe me. Hell, there are still days when I'm on the wrong side of it. Same with Clint, and Tasha.”

Tony nodded, and looked away, wanting very much to ask Bucky to leave, so he could convince himself everything was going to be fine, but it was a fleeting urge. Pointless, also, since the very next time he laid eyes on Steve it was all going to come flooding back. Running didn't help very much when you carried your problems around with you in your heart.

“So where do I come in, exactly?” Tony asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Bucky looked relieved, and something about that was deeply unsettling. “I dunno, I guess that depends. It ain't always easy loving someone with PTSD, ‘specially when they're too stubborn to admit anything is wrong with them.”

And that was it, the other shoe dropping, the missing little piece of awfulness that Tony had been waiting for. Because _of course_.

Stupidly, he’d hoped the PTSD was something Steve had been keeping secret from _him_ , not wanting Tony to think of him as his diagnosis, or treat him any differently. Considering his trip to rehab had been reported on in gossip rags, Tony could sympathize with anyone wanting to maintain a little dignity and privacy while addressing their mental health issues. And when you were already struggling, sharing something like that with someone new in your life could feel a lot like painting a target right over your heart.

Tony hadn’t exactly been forthcoming himself. His sobriety was one thing; that juicy tidbit was out there to entertain the world, and so Tony tended to use it as a diversion from all the other issues, the ones that had led to drinking in the first place. Sure, there’d been the accidental slip here or there, but it wasn’t as if Steve really had any idea what Tony’s childhood had been like.

Aside from therapists, Rhodey and Bruce probably knew the most. Rhodey because he’d been there for parts of it, and Bruce because… well, his own father made Howard Stark seem worthy of the title ‘Dad of the Year’ by comparison. Pepper had dealt with his drunk-ass, weepy behavior enough over the years they'd known each other to put two and two together, but Howard wasn't exactly a comfortable topic of conversation for Tony.

Flashing neon behavioral issues aside, Steve's denial made sense in other ways. Despite everything, Steve genuinely cared about the world, and the people in it, and wanted to make it a better place. If he'd embraced his situation, and gotten help for it, Tony could easily imagine Steve being the kind of guy to champion awareness, to act as a role model, while fighting against the social stigmas surrounding PTSD, and mental health issues in general, in the hopes of encouraging other veterans to get help. Of course, that wasn't going to happen if he was too busy desperately trying to convince himself and everyone around him that he was okay.

Bucky was still watching him expectantly, and as Tony struggled with his brain enthusiastically providing him example after example of Steve's now glaringly obvious symptoms of PTSD, Bucky's expression darkened.

“Before you say anything, I feel like a fucking scumbag for doing an end run ‘round him.” Tony didn't doubt it—Bucky looked guilty as hell. “If I knew he was talkin’ to _anyone_ about the shit in his head, I'd stay out of his business.”

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. “But he's not.” There was no point in pretending it was a question.

Bucky shook his head. “Even after everything that asshole almost stayed in the Army. Can you believe that shit? Couldn't sleep through the night without screamin’, and as soon as the lights come on it's all, ‘I'm fine, sorry to wake you,’ but he's gonna head back into _combat_? And without us there to keep an eye on him?”

The level of fear visible in Bucky's eyes left Tony shaken to his core, so much so that he was glad he was already sitting down.

“Guessing you changed his mind about that?”

“Damn straight I did,” Bucky almost growled, the metal of his prosthetic creaking ominously as his hand clenched in a fist. “Might have played the ‘I got blown up’ card a bit, but whatever. It was pretty fuckin’ obvious that going back meant Steve was gonna get himself KIA accidentally on purpose.”

A shudder ran through Tony, leaving him feeling queasy, and anxious. He wanted to call Steve, hear his voice, even though there was no immediate danger.

“Yeah, exactly,” Bucky said, as if in response to something. Tony supposed his expression said it all, though; he felt like all the blood had been drained out of him, and it must have shown on his face. “Welcome to the party.”

“Shit.” Tony scrubbed his hands through his hair, and took a deep breath. “Is he still… He doesn't _seem_ suicidal to me.”

Bucky’s mouth twisted, as if he was fighting off a sob. He exhaled raggedly, and shrugged. “The thing with Stevie is, he wouldn't do anything like that. Not if he's at home, with friends and family. Over there? Sure. He coulda justified it, waited until some poor schlub was gonna take a bullet and then caught it for him. Then we'd all be sad, but could tell ourselves that's war. People die.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. “But if he's home?”

“Yeah, if he hadn’t adopted Peter, and coulda made it look like an accident. Now? Only way I can see him doing it is if something happened to the kid.” A muscle in Bucky’s jaw ticked angrily, the subject matter obviously as difficult for him to discuss as it was for Tony to hear. “Before you came along, Steve did all his living through Peter.”

Tony had already known the answer, but it was still good to get independent confirmation, especially from a source as close to Steve as Bucky was. Responsibility always had a capital R in Steve’s world. Tony could easily imagine Steve looking upon his civilian life as yet another mission, family and friends filling the role of troops he was responsible for. A good leader didn't show weakness in front of the people counting on them for strength, and they sure as shit didn't up and quit. Giving in to the urge to opt out of life would have left Steve's people carrying the burden of responsibility for his life, forever left to wonder what they could have done differently, if they could have saved him.

“Tony?”

He opened his eyes, found Bucky watching him, borderline panic creeping into his expression.

“Sorry. Processing.”

Bucky nodded, swallowed, and hung his head before looking up at Tony again. Electrodes dangled off of his body, the rapid rise and fall of his chest in step with the look in his eyes.

“This is… I'm fuckin’ trusting you big time here. If… I know you're in denial land, but my brother has never—not once in his life— _ever_ been so serious about another person. These last few months? You're _real good_ for him, Tony. It's like you resuscitated him or something. And if I fucked that up for him by opening my big mouth—”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Tony interrupted. “That's…” He took a deep breath, then wondered why the hell he was holding back. Bucky already knew the truth. “Fuck it. I love him. And every time I see Steve, or talk to him, I love him a little bit more. I mean, sure, everything you’ve said is understandably terrifying, and borderline overwhelming, but I can’t say I’m _surprised_. Yeah, it changes things, but I'm in this for the long haul, Bucky. Have been since the beginning.”

Tony found himself in the strange position of being pulled up out of his seat, and aggressively hugged by a shirtless, electrode covered Bucky Barnes. Definitely not anything he'd expected when Bucky had arrived for his consultation, but there they were.

“Sorry,” Bucky blurted a moment later, laughing his relief and wiping a hand across his eyes. “See what I mean? Loving the punk ain't easy.”

“No,” Tony agreed, disentangling his watch from where it had snagged on one of the electrode leads. “But it's worth it.”

“Damn straight.” Bucky gave him a hearty slap on the back, squeezing his shoulder for good measure. “He'd flip his wig if he knew I'd said anything.”

“I figured as much,” Tony said, sharing a tight smile. “Maybe we keep this part of the visit to ourselves.”

There was no way in hell he was telling Steve about this particular conversation. It was too easy to imagine him panicking, and retreating so far behind his walls that Tony lost any chance of getting him back out again.

“Sorry to dump all this in your lap,” Bucky added, dropping back onto his chair. He looked like he'd been put through the ringer, and Tony wondered how much time Bucky spent worrying about his brother.

“Me too, but it's… I'd rather know. This way, if something happens,” Tony shrugged. “You, ah, seem surprisingly comfortable discussing this. I'm assuming you're in therapy?”

“Sure,” Bucky answered easily. “Mostly just do group these days. That's the other reason I wanted to talk. Like I said, loving someone with PTSD ain't easy. The meetings I've been doing are for family and friends of people _with_ PTSD.”

Tony laughed, then shook his head. “Sorry, nervous habit. I'm definitely not laughing at you.”

“Nah, I get it. Believe me.” Bucky sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I’m the one who lost an arm, and I'm in therapy because of my brother. It's kinda nuts.”

Tony shared a tight smile with Bucky. “Guessing you spent some time working on your own issues, too.”

“Sure. This made it a hell of a lot easier, though.” Bucky raised the prosthetic and wiggled his fingers. “No more phantom limb pain. Got two arms to wrap around Clint. I'd still be fine with just the one, as long as I had him.”

It was easy to see Bucky wasn’t kidding. “Having support is big.”

Bucky nodded, looked away, shiny fingers toying with one of the electrode leads. “Clint saved my life, and not just ‘cause he’s the one that got a tourniquet on me.” He smiled to himself, then shared the smile with Tony, his eyes bright. “Love’s the whole point in being alive, and I almost missed out. Think Steve’s bad? I was the biggest, most oblivious idiot on the planet. I mean, _oblivious_. Took almost dying in the guy’s arms for me to come to terms with being batshit crazy in love with Clint.”

Tony felt as if someone had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. Bucky was smiling down at his hands like he had all the secrets in the universe, and all Tony wanted to do was run out of the room, track down Steve, pull him into a hug and maybe never let go again.

“Guess what I’m sayin’ is, life’s too short. I see the way you look at my brother, and I see the way he looks at you, and for the first time in years I’m thinkin’ maybe Stevie’ll come out of this okay after all. But then I go worrying about him self-sabotaging ‘cause of all the shit he’s carrying around with him, and I wanna scream.” Bucky pinned Tony with his eyes. “I get that it might be awkward comin’ to my group, but there are lots of others. There’s the rest of us, too; me an’ Clint, and Tasha, and Sam. Just ‘cause Steve won’t let anyone help him doesn’t mean you can’t get some support for your end of things.”

“Okay.” Tony exhaled raggedly, then shook his head, as if that might clear his thoughts somehow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I know it ain’t everyone’s cup of tea,” Bucky added, shrugging. “I try not to go on about it too much these days. When we first got home, Steve told me I sounded like some kinda brainwashed cult member.”

Tony sighed, sadness settling into his chest. “That’s the way it goes, sometimes, when you know you should be doing something, and can’t bring yourself to take the plunge.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up, expression shifting subtly, as if he was reassessing Tony in some capacity. “Yeah, exactly.” There seemed to be more to it than that, Bucky taking a moment to argue with himself, perhaps, before opening his mouth again. “Between my own shit, and Steve’s, and the things I’ve seen and heard since coming home, I decided to take a page outta Sam’s book.”

“You’re going into counseling?” Tony asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Why the fuck not, right? I got benefits for a reason. Might as well go back to school. I spend all my free time volunteering, and trying to help other vets, but it never occurred to me that I could do it all official until Sam smacked me upside the head.”

“Good for you. I think it’s a great idea,” Tony insisted, and it wasn’t an exaggeration. Bucky was a little rough around the edges, but that could very well be an asset. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a veteran being more comfortable talking about their traumatic event with someone who had shared experiences. “I look forward to calling you Dr. Barnes.”

Bucky snorted, and smiled almost bashfully. “Yeah, well, that’s a ways off. We’ll see how I do in the fall. Hopefully I can hack it. Don’t say anything to Stevie, though, I wanna tell him myself.”

“My lips are sealed,” Tony promised, throwing a Boy Scout’s salute in for good measure. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a natural.”

“Thanks.” Bucky gave him a long, hard look, then cracked another of those wise ass smiles that looked so at home on his face. “For everything, really. Guessin’ this isn’t what you figured we’d be talking about this afternoon, huh?”

Tony shook his head. “I was sort of expecting a shovel talk, to be honest. Not, um, acceptance and offers of support.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Bucky laughed, sounding slightly high strung, all nerves and emotion needing a safe release. “Jeez, Tony, I’d throw you a goddamned parade if I could! My dads would help, and they haven’t even met you yet.”

Tony had to assume his shock was evident, if Bucky’s sympathetic look was any indication. It was strange; if someone had asked him earlier in the day, he’d have said having the approval of Steve’s loved ones would be incredible, and here he was, quietly panicking over the reality of it all.

“I mean, I can give you a shovel talk if it’d make you feel better,” Bucky added, an eyebrow arched. He leaned forward, suddenly serious, finger pointed in Tony’s direction. “You break my brother’s heart, I’ll _end_ you. You’ll never see me coming, either—that’s kinda my specialty—and don’t think your money’ll keep you safe. It won’t.”

Tony’s jaw dropped, and he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating for the duration of Bucky’s speech, but almost immediately, the maddog expression Steve’s brother was sporting slipped, and before Tony quite knew what was happening, the two of them were laughing together, hard enough to cry. It shouldn’t have been funny, but it sure as hell seemed like the best possible course of action at the moment. Tony was confident Bucky knew that as long as Steve wanted him around, and was willing to stick to their ‘in it together’ approach, Tony wasn’t going anywhere. Not willingly, anyway.

“Much better, thank you,” Tony wheezed, wiping away his tears.

With a sigh, he leaned over, and keyed in the command to resume the tests, interface firing up in front of Bucky again, prompting him to almost fall off of his chair in surprise. Naturally, this led to even more laughter, but Tony was okay with that. After the conversation they’d had, they’d earned a little lightheartedness.

When Bucky managed to pull himself together, Tony started everything over again from the beginning, the nervousness from earlier nowhere to be found. Even the sick feeling in his stomach had passed, and while he was certain it’d make a triumphant return when he was alone, there was something else bubbling under the surface. The kissing cousin of relief, maybe, because knowing what he did now, Steve’s inconsistent behavior made so much more sense.

Tony had no idea what he was meant to do with the information, precisely. He couldn’t exactly confront Steve about it, and expect anything good to come from the experience. But, maybe he could open up a bit more about his own struggle with depression, and self-loathing. Lead by example, shed some light on the ways he’d been helped by mental health professionals. After all, growing up, therapy had always sounded like a crock of shit to him, too, right up until he found the right person to work with, and actually opened himself to the experience. There was something sublime and liberating about having a safe, private space where he could rip his chest open, and bleed all over the floor, and not feel like he was burdening his friends, or being humored by the people around him because of his money.

“Holy shit,” Tony blurted, having a sudden, shocking revelation. Bucky stopped mid-sentence, his recounting of a recent debate with Clint all but forgotten as he whirled around to see what was wrong. “I just realized that between me and Steve, _I’m_ the well adjusted one in our relationship!”

And there they went, laughing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers. So. Steve's PTSD is right out in the open, at least between Tony and Bucky, and Bucky is a champ, because he knows Tony needs / will need support. You might not be too surprised to learn that we're going to be entering choppy waters with these two. 
> 
> Love is wonderful, support is amazing, but Steve needs to sort of kind of hit bottom before he can move on to properly dealing with all his unresolved issues. I know, I know, they were doing so well, too. And, uh, I know some of what is coming up is going to hurt, and you're probably going to want to punch Steve, or Tony, or both of them, but they'll get through this shit. And once they do? You can say goodbye to any question of whether or not they're both in this TOGETHER for the long haul. Their love will be stronger, and they'll be forged together, in the heat of battle, like Xena, Warrior Princess. Wait, that got weird at the end.
> 
> Anyway, long story short ( _too late_ ), hang in there, true believers!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, letting down your walls with someone you love means that occasionally things can escape, whether you want them to or not. Sometimes, we wake up at three in the morning, and everything has gone horribly wrong without warning. Tony does his best to guide Steve safely through the storm, but gets a bit derailed along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Potential Trigger Warning** for a psychologically realistic depiction of Steve's mental state while suffering a panic attack, and experiencing a flashback to a traumatic event.

“What time is it?”

At the sound of Tony’s voice, Steve froze, sneaker in hand, still bent at the waist at the side of the bed. “Early,” he answered, “sorry, go back to sleep.”

Ignoring his suggestion, Tony propped himself up on an elbow, and rubbed the heel of his palm against an eye, even as he squinted into the darkness with the other. “What're you doing?” he mumbled, words colliding sleepily.

“Going for a run,” Steve answered, keeping his voice pitched low. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, and did some mental pleading for Tony to grunt his acceptance, and lie back down.

“At three in the morning?”

Well, apparently that wasn’t happening. “Mm hm. I’ll be back in a bit.”

By the time Steve finished getting into his shoes, Tony had the lights on, and was sitting up in the bed, blankets pooled around his waist, hair matted to one side of his head. He might have been squinting, but Tony’s eyes were unsettlingly alert.

“Hey, hold up,” he called, sliding out of the bed as Steve walked around it, and made to leave.

Tony was naked, of course, and for some reason, Steve found himself blushing, which was ridiculous. Considering he’d been the one to undress Tony earlier in the evening, it shouldn’t have been so jarring.

He was so distracted by Tony’s nudity that Steve somehow managed to lose track of his proximity, and jerked in surprise at the feeling of Tony’s hand settling on his shoulder, instinctively ducking away from the contact. Even as hurt and concern battled it out in Tony’s eyes, Steve tried to correct the mistake by reaching for Tony’s hand, squeezing his fingers.

“Sorry,” Steve blurted, trying to swallow down the rising panic. The urge to get outside, and get moving was building up, making him feel pressurized. He stepped closer, pressed a kiss against Tony’s forehead. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Tony said, soothingly. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Steve waited for a sarcastic reply, or acquiescence, or maybe for Tony to order him back into the bed, but instead, Tony’s expression softened, and Steve found himself pulled in close, until his face was tucked against Tony’s neck. His skin felt impossibly warm, and Steve was hopeless to resist wrapping his arms around Tony, holding on tight.

“You’re shaking,” Tony whispered, tightening his own grip, hand stroking Steve’s hair over and over again. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No.”

Hearing the edge to his voice prompted Steve to squeeze his eyes shut. It wasn’t a lie, but not elaborating felt dishonest. One moment he’d been asleep, the next he’d been awake, on high alert, dread sitting so heavily in his chest that it felt like an actual, physical weight pinning him to the mattress. He’d been out of the bed in an instant, looking left and right and not remembering where the hell he was. Or where he was _supposed_ to be. Steve’s first thought had been to find his rifle, his uniform, his fucking boots, for that matter, because something _bad_ was going to happen, and he had to make sure the others were up, and ready, so they didn’t get ambushed.

“Steve?”

The view from the fancy floor to ceiling windows in Tony’s penthouse had knocked him for a loop when he turned around, and recognized that New York City was sprawled out in front of him. As if connections had been completed in his brain, Steve immediately switched gears from one life to another. Rather than rallying the troops, Steve understood he needed to make certain Peter and Tony were safe.

Tony was easy, sprawled as he was in the bed, but Peter was with his aunt and uncle, who wouldn’t appreciate being startled awake in the middle of the night by a panicked Steve Rogers calling to confirm his son was in bed, and still in one piece.

“Hey.”

Adrenaline coursing through his body, Steve had dressed hastily, hoping he could kill two birds with one stone; running past the Parker’s house to make certain everything was okay would burn off the excess energy, and get him the confirmation he needed. Only, he’d woken Tony, and—

Warm hands cupped his face, held him steady while Tony tilted his head, forced eye contact. Steve blinked rapidly, tried to play back the last minute, figure out if Tony had asked him a question or not.

“Do you know where you are?” Tony asked, watching him with such intensity that Steve couldn’t look away. Steve nodded, not quite trusting his voice to be steady. “Good. Do me a favor, honey, and exhale for me, nice and slow.”

Steve wanted to argue, to bolt from the room, but Tony’s eyes were wide, and bright, even though he was wearing an encouraging smile. He stroked his thumbs across Steve’s cheeks, added, “Please?” and so Steve struggled, but managed to exhale. It sounded ragged, as if he’d already been running, which went well with his racing heart.

“Beautiful, Steve. Together. Let’s take a normal breath, and a nice, steady exhale. Once more,” Tony encouraged, breathing along with Steve this time.

Once more became twice more, then continued until he lost track of his urgency, lost track of everything but Tony’s eyes, and his enviably even inhalations and exhalations. In and out. Slow and steady. Not too deep. Not too rapid. They synced up somewhere along the way, Steve’s body catching on, beginning to follow Tony’s lead without him consciously having to think through the motions of breathing.

Steve didn’t remember moving, but he must have, because he was sitting down on the edge of the bed, staring up into Tony’s eyes while holding onto him for dear life. With a shudder, he squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed his ear against Tony’s chest, soothed by the warmth of his skin, the steady pounding of his heart. Tony was stroking his hair, and rubbing circles against his back, when Steve finally sighed, and sagged, a whimper caught in his throat.

“It’s okay,” Tony said. The sound of his voice was a comforting rumble beneath Steve’s ear, the familiar scent of his skin, and the steady movement of his hands serving to ground Steve. “I’ve got you, Steve, I’m right here.”

He was used to hearing those words under very different circumstances, but the results were shockingly similar. Steve felt himself relaxing against Tony, letting go, the fist of panic loosening its grip enough for embarrassment to threaten to take its place.

“I’m—”

“I used to have anxiety attacks.”

The word _fine_ never had a chance to leave Steve’s lips, cut off as he was by Tony’s confession.

“Haven't had one in a couple years,” Tony continued, voice still even, steady. The rising tension eased out of Steve's shoulders, despite his confusion. He wasn't sure what had prompted Tony's confession, but now he was concerned, and maybe even a bit curious.

“Everything would be normal, and then out of nowhere I'd feel like I was having a heart attack, or something. I couldn’t breathe, my heart would be pounding like crazy, and yeah, it sucked pretty bad, as you can probably imagine.”

Steve swallowed, mouth feeling oddly dry. Tony's heart continued its steady beating beneath his ear as he asked, “why?” so softly that he was surprised when Tony answered.

“Ah. That's complicated,” Tony said, running his fingers through Steve's hair. “I need to put on clothes if we're going to talk about that.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Steve felt as if he was poised on the brink of something important. Although he felt worlds calmer, the urge to get to Peter was still with him, like an alarm sounding in his head, faint but steady. Impossible to ignore.

And then there was Tony, watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer to the question he hadn’t been brave enough to ask. Steve could see it in his eyes; Tony wanted him to stay. Whatever had prompted the late night confession was tied to something important, some pivotal moment in Tony’s life, that he was offering to share with Steve.

The odds that something was _actually_ wrong with his son were astronomically small, but any chance at all felt like too much to risk. How was he meant to live with himself if he could have prevented something awful from happening, and instead of following his instincts, he’d stayed with Tony?

“I can’t stay,” Steve blurted, feeling deeply and profoundly ashamed as he extracted himself from the embrace, stood up, took a few steps toward the bedroom door. “I’m _sorry_ , Tony, I can’t, I just can’t.”

The guilt threatened to choke him as he watched Tony’s expression shutter. Unable to take it, Steve squeezed his eyes shut again, and braced for condemnation. They were supposed to be scared _together_ , and this wasn’t together, not even close, but he had no way of explaining!

“Okay.”

Shaking hands bunched into fists, Steve’s eyes snapped open at the word, expecting to find Tony watching him with disappointment, or anger. Instead, Tony was dressing, and appeared as calm as could be.

“What?”

Tony grabbed his phone from the bedside table, tucking it into his back pocket before he snagged a t-shirt from the floor. “Okay,” he repeated, as if that made any sense.

Steve was so confused by the response that he continued to stand at attention in the center of Tony’s bedroom, unable to process what was happening. Then something occurred to him. Tony had been the one to drive them to Manhattan the night before. If he was getting dressed, maybe that meant Tony intended to take Steve back to Brooklyn, dump him at his doorstep, and then get on with his life already. Clearly he had no intention of heading back to bed, or letting Steve come back to the penthouse after his run.

An awful, plummeting sense of finality left Steve shaking again, wanting to beg Tony to understand something he himself couldn’t understand, yet couldn’t ignore.

“If you need to go for a run, you need to go for a run,” Tony said calmly, dragging Steve back out of his thoughts again. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of beat up looking sneakers. “But that doesn’t mean you have to go alone.”

Now he was really confused. “ _What_?”

“Hey, just because my heart is artificial doesn’t mean I can’t benefit from a good cardiovascular workout,” Tony explained, smiling disarmingly.

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a complete loss. “You don’t—”

“I know I don’t have to, and that I might have trouble keeping up, but that doesn’t change anything. We’re an exclusive club, remember? If you need to go for a run at three in the morning, I understand and accept that need, but in turn you have to understand and accept that I’ll be coming with you.”

Tony’s smile was out of step with the intensity in his eyes, and for no reason whatsoever, Steve found himself thinking of Bucky. Of being a stupid, stubborn, inexperienced, eighteen year old kid with no possible way of understanding what he was setting himself up for by joining the Army. Of two flesh and blood hands gripping his arms hard enough to bruise, pinning him against a wall. Bucky was strong, but it was the look in his brother’s eyes that had really kept Steve immobilized.

_“If you think for one minute you’re going off and gettin’ shot at without me there to watch your back, you’re fuckin’ insane, Stevie!”_

Standing in the middle of Tony’s bedroom, Steve swore he could feel Bucky’s grip on him tighten, fingers digging into the muscles of his arms as Bucky gave him a little shake, and that was _bad_ , that was a slippery slope right there. Once you let the memories out even a little, it was almost guaranteed that one thought would lead to another, feelings and smells and sensations coming rapid fire, until Steve felt Bucky’s dead weight across his shoulders again, and the blood soaking into his clothes, making them stick to Steve’s already sweat slick skin as he ran, and ran, so pumped full of adrenaline that he didn’t even feel the first bullet when it hit his leg, which was good, since he couldn’t stop, could never stop, stopping meant Bucky would _die_ , and so he ran, and he ran, and _ran_.

Steve was running again, but not from gunfire, or for the front door. For the bathroom, because he felt like he might throw up from the stink of blood. A chill ran through him, cold sweat and nausea, and he couldn’t look down, because he didn’t want to see how much blood there was, and a scream was trapped somewhere behind his teeth, but Steve stamped down on it, hard, because if he let up his control even a little—

“You’re okay, Steve,” Tony said, voice cutting through the pounding in Steve’s head. “You’re safe. Everything’s going to be okay. Help me out for a minute, Steve, countdown with me from one hundred.”

Tony’s request was confusing, prompting Steve to blink down at the toilet he was clinging to, as if it knew what the hell was going on.

“I’m going to put my hand on your back. Nod if that’s okay.”

Steve nodded jerkily, unable to stop himself from jumping at the physical contact. Tony kept his hand still for a moment, then rubbed a circle experimentally, asked, “Still okay?” and once he had a confirmation in the form of another nod, continued rubbing. “Great. You’re doing _great_ , Steve. Here we go. One hundred.”

Now that the need to be sick was passing, the urgency was clawing at him again, because there was something he was—

“Come on. Count with me, you can do it. One hundred, Steve. Say it with me. _One hundred_.”

“One hundred,” Steve all but growled, his jaw tight. “Why are—”

“Ninety-nine.”

Whining with frustration, Steve repeated the number to Tony, and continued to do so, number after number, methodical and plodding, working down through the ranks, until they were in sync again, saying them together, no longer a call and response.

“Take a nice, deep breath for me,” Tony said, and Steve did, letting himself sag back against Tony’s chest. “Want to go for another round?”

“One hundred,” Steve said by way of answering, and by the time they reached thirty, he was turned around completely, holding onto Tony as best he could, forehead resting against Tony’s shoulder.

“Tell me what you need, Steve,” Tony murmured once they finished, the sound carrying in weird ways because of the acoustics in the bathroom.

Hearing the request was like déjà vu, in a lot of ways. Under normal circumstances, Steve would be naked, in Tony’s bed, might already be filled and stretched and blissed out, unashamedly begging Tony, telling him _exactly_ what he needed in the moment. Somewhere along the line, Steve had grown accustomed to the honesty, vulnerability, and trust that they’d been sharing in the form of amazing sex. Steve was sweaty, and exhausted, and vulnerable, wrapped up safe in Tony’s arms, and while getting laid was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment, there were enough similarities at play for him to act on autopilot, and open his mouth without thinking.

“I need to make sure Peter’s safe.”

“Okay. We’ll make sure Peter’s safe. Together.”

It wasn’t until Tony responded that Steve realized he’d said the words out loud. Before he could panic all over again for having been stupid enough to have said anything, Steve was distracted by Tony’s continued calm approach to the situation.

“Running to Queens is a bad idea at the moment. How about we hop in the shower real quick, and rinse off all the sweat. Then we’ll get dressed, and I’ll drive us to the Parker’s.” Tony’s hands continued to stroke soothingly across Steve’s back, and shoulders, and over his hair, pausing now and again so Tony could give him a little squeeze. “If you need to go inside once we get there, I’ll wait in the car until you’re done. Does that plan work for you?”

Steve would have rather left right away, but the feeling of sweat drying on his skin reminded him too much of blood, left a sick, heavy sensation in the pit of his stomach. Rinsing off wouldn’t take very long, and he’d be glad he’d done it, if he was unable to resist going into the Parker’s house to see Peter with his own two eyes.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Steve croaked, “yeah, okay.”

“Good. Let’s stand up then.”

Tony helped him to his feet, giving him another squeeze before he headed over to the shower, and turned on the water. Steve wrapped his arms around himself, and watched, still feeling disconnected from everything happening around him. Tony should be disgusted by how absolutely _pathetic_ Steve was behaving, not… not taking _care_ of him.

“I should probably go,” Steve managed to spit out, the shame and guilt leaving him wanting to crawl away, and hide. “You could still get some sleep.”

Tony continued to disrobe, ignoring Steve’s commentary, then leaned over and took hold of Steve’s wrist. “If you really want to leave, then after our shower I’ll take you home. But let’s at least get that taken care of before we decide, okay?”

Not trusting his mouth, Steve nodded, averted his eyes, allowed Tony to help him out of his clothes. Then, despite everything, Steve was groaning with relief, the blissfully hot water cascading over his body, washing away the awful, lingering stickiness that had been making his skin crawl. Tension went with it, until Steve found himself with his head bowed beneath the water, watching the pendulous swinging of his dog tags, hands braced on the wall in front of him. It finally felt as if he and his body were back on the same team again.

“I’m going to wash your back,” Tony announced, the scent of vanilla, and whatever else was in his expensive body wash, filling the air around them. Steve breathed deeply, nodded, sighing as Tony moved the loufa over his skin in slow, methodical strokes.

And so it went, Steve turning so he could rinse off, while also giving Tony access to the front of his body. Accepting the offer of having his hair washed. Insisting upon returning the favor. Tony hummed contentedly as Steve worked the shampoo into his hair, fingers moving rhythmically against Tony’s scalp. Rinse. Tony’s eyelashes were clumped together, beads of water gathering and spilling as he blinked, and Steve couldn’t look away, could only stare in wonder.

Tony’s eyes were sad, and there was concern there, but… but there wasn’t any judgement, not that Steve could see, anyway. No fear, no disgust, only…

“How are we doing?” Tony asked.

“Better than before.” Steve took a deep breath, exhaled nice and slow, let the soothing warmth of the shower wash over him. “I think I’m ready to get out.”

Steve let Tony take him by the hand after turning off the water. Let himself be wrapped up in a fluffy towel, and dried off. Steve could see that the clothes he’d been wearing were soaked with sweat, and shuddered at the idea of putting them back on. Tony seemed against the idea as well, and guided Steve past the discarded garments, and into the bedroom.

A moment later, Steve felt stupid, and confused as to how he could have forgotten about the overnight bag he’d brought along. Tony fished out clean clothes, and laid them on the bed, then set about getting himself dressed, while Steve pulled on underwear, and watched.

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurted, unable to hold it in any longer. “You shouldn’t have to—”

“You’re not making me do anything, Steve,” Tony interrupted. “And you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted.

The rest of his words fizzled out and died in response to the look Tony was giving him. “Would you expect me to apologize if I needed your help, because all I could think about was taking a drink?”

“No,” Steve answered immediately, shock and confusion evident in his voice. “Of _course not_ , Tony. You don’t think—”

“Good.” Tony cut him off again, but Steve couldn’t muster any annoyance over the ongoing interruptions. Really, Tony was doing him a favor by silencing him. “Because that’ll happen. And when it does, I’ll feel like shit about myself, and be embarrassed and ashamed that something as trivial as _alcohol_ has such a hold on me, and you can be in charge of reminding me that there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, especially from someone you love. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve answered breathlessly.

Steve’s heart leapt in his chest, legs shaking as if the floor was moving under him. He wondered if Tony had even _heard_ the words he’d just used, because he was continuing on as if everything was normal, when it absolutely _wasn’t_.

“Great, glad we’re in agreement,” Tony said with a smile, ducking his chin.

As Steve watched, Tony’s brow furrowed, teeth biting down into his lower lip, before he forced the smile back in place, and grabbed his t-shirt. Steve held his breath as he observed, time seeming almost to slow, revealing a dance of muscle shifting beneath skin as Tony’s breath quickened. Tony’s wonderful, dexterous hands were shaking as he turned his shirt right-side-out in preparation of wearing it. Steve _knew_ , could see it painted in every line of Tony’s body, a message hidden in the flaring of his nostrils, and downcast eyes. Tony hadn’t intended to use that word, but once it had left his lips, there was no getting it back, and now he was scared.

There was no point in asking if Tony meant what he’d said; Steve could see that plainly. He could also see how worried Tony was that he’d revealed too much, as if his being in love with Steve would be viewed as a _bad_ thing. Something unwanted. _Unreciprocated_. Which… which was not true, not even a little, because…

Before Tony, it was as if Steve had spent his entire life stumbling around in the dark, and then the sun finally came up, and once he could see the world around him, _everything_ was different. Steve wanted to laugh, or cry, was stupefied as to how it'd taken him so long to realize what had happened.

“I love you, too,” Steve confessed, feeling as if a weight had been knocked off of his shoulders, perfectly overwhelmed by the wonderful truth of his words.

Tony froze, and when he spoke, his voice was calm, controlled, carefully neutral. “It’s okay, Steve,” he said, eyes downcast. “You really don’t have to—”

This time, Steve was the one doing the interrupting. “I know. I _know_ that, Tony, and I wouldn’t tell you that I love you if I didn’t mean it.”

The smile wavered, slid off of Tony’s face, eyes flitting up to meet Steve’s before looking away again. “Look, it’s been an emotional kind of night, right? You're not thinking clearly, and—”

“No, no way,” Steve snapped, anger flaring up bright in his chest in an instant. “You don’t get to do that!”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “What? Be practical?” he suggested calmly, smoothing down his shirt, and folding his arms across his chest.

“That’s not what’s going on, and you know it.” Steve took a step closer, struggling to keep his temper in check, and failing miserably. He’d fallen back on his command voice, but was simultaneously too frustrated and elated to do anything aside from barreling onwards. “You don’t get to dictate what I’m feeling—”

“Right, because you’re _so_ in touch with your feelings,” Tony muttered, jaw ticking to the side, his eyes flashing with irritation.

“—just because you’re smarter than me!” Steve was shouting by the end of the sentence, breathing heavily, fists clenched at his side. “Why are you trying to…”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, and the unwanted sob he’d been holding onto all night finally escaped, taking the fight right out of him, leaving Steve choking on an unexpected wave of awfulness. What if he’d gotten it all wrong?

“Do you… do you not _want_ … Okay. _Okay_. I’m sorry. Tony, I… I thought… it might be a… a _good_ thing.”

Steve’s legs didn’t want to hold him up anymore, so he let himself sit heavily on the end of Tony’s bed, bent over at the waist, head in his hands, as he struggled to hold back the tears. If he started crying, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop. Failure, and misery, and a crippling loneliness took hold of him, while somewhere in his mind, a trapped Steve Rogers struggled as water filled the room to capacity. There wasn't any point to fighting his way to the surface; there _wasn't_ any surface, was no air left to breathe.

“Wait, whoa, hey, what just happened?”

Gritting his teeth, Steve clasped his hands behind his neck, and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do. Tony didn’t _want_ to be in love with him, which made a hell of a lot more sense than anything else that had happened that night. The problem was, now that Steve had made the connection between all of the things he’d been feeling for Tony, and the word that so clearly defined them, he was at a complete loss as to what to do next. Love wasn’t something you could turn on and off at whim! He couldn’t package the feeling up, and bury it somewhere, or give it to someone else. Steve would feel it rushing through him each and every time he looked into Tony’s eyes, or heard his voice, knowing all the while that Tony felt the same, but wished he _didn’t_ , and—

“Holy shit. _Steve_ , hey, I fucked up, come on, that’s not what— Please look at me,” Tony begged. Steve curled in tighter on himself in response to the arm placed around his shoulders, and the warmth of Tony pressed against his side. “Please, _please_ , come on, just for a second, Steve?”

Tony slid off of the bed, crouching down in front of Steve instead, and even though Steve wanted to shove him aside, and run away, he was _exhausted,_ didn’t have any fight left. When Tony tried to pull his hands aside again, Steve let it happen, didn’t look away when warm fingers skated across his cheeks, hands cradling his face, as Tony peered up into his eyes.

“Hey, whatever you’re thinking right now is all wrong,” Tony swore.

“How can you say that?” Steve asked, the weight of resignation making each word feel heavy in his mouth. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Tony agreed. His mournful expression wavered as tears obscured Steve’s vision, and so he blinked, allowed them to slide down his cheeks, to gather against Tony’s thumbs. “You don’t know what I’m thinking, either. In case you’re curious, I’m thinking I accidentally _hurt_ you,” and Tony’s voice wavered, prompting him to swallow. “Which is the opposite of what I wanted. Steve, I swear, this drama predates you by a lot of years. I have a really difficult time accepting love. Especially from you. That’s hard, that’s really hard for me to wrap my head around.”

“Especially me,” Steve parroted softly, blinking away more tears.

The confusion was all over Tony’s face. “Huh?”

“You said _especially from me_. Why? I thought you meant it when you said we were doing this together,” Steve continued, heart feeling like it was sitting in his throat. “Isn’t love the _whole point_ of together?”

“Okay, hold on, obviously I’m still not explaining myself well.”

Steve recognized the panic in Tony’s eyes, the fear etched into every line of his beautifully familiar face, and wondered if he was wearing the same expression. And it was strange, but seeing it there—recognizing it for what it was—loosened the knot in the pit of Steve’s stomach, made his heart race for other reasons.

Carefully, he leaned forward, and brushed his lips against Tony’s, never breaking eye contact. “I’m in love with you, Tony,” Steve said again, wrapping his arms around Tony to keep him close. “I wouldn’t stop even if I could. If that’s… If me loving you isn’t something you want, then I don’t know what—”

Tony was kissing him, a rough press of lips, hands gripping fistfuls of Steve’s shirt as he held on tight. “I definitely _want_ you to love me,” Tony swore, kissing him again, softer this time. “I want it more than anything, Steve, I _promise_.”

“Then why are you arguing with me?” Steve asked, stroking the side of Tony’s face. As he watched Tony struggle to answer, Steve’s spirits sank. “You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that simple,” Tony said after an uncomfortably prolonged silence.

But it _was_. It couldn't be simpler; despite everything, he hadn't made Tony feel loved. “Tony, if you don't believe me, that's my own damn fault for hurting you. For not… For being so bad at this.”

“Steve—”

“You're always so patient with me,” Steve said. “I can be patient, too, Tony. I won't… I won't say it anymore, if hearing the words makes you uncomfortable.”

Tony scrunched his face up, expression stranded between embarrassment and misery.

“I'd rather you let me, though,” Steve continued when Tony remained quiet. “Either way, I'm going to do a better job of _showing_ you from now on.”

“That's not—”

Steve kissed him again. “I'll do better, Tony, don't give up on me.”

Tony made a noise of frustration, and stood up, pacing away, hands running through his damp hair. “Fuck, Steve, I'm not going anywhere,” he snapped. “And I'm not giving up, or anything else, either. What I _am_ is sleep deprived, and on high fucking alert, and so are you! Did you miss the part where you woke up in the middle of the night having a panic attack?”

Steve's heart kicked into gear, Tony's words and his agitation grating against his already jangled nerves. “Panic attack?”

“Which proves my point exactly. _Thank you_ , Steve.” Tony shook his head, laughing to himself. “You're the _opposite_ of self-aware, and in the middle of a meltdown, I stupidly open my big mouth, and in response you have some kind of… of _epiphany_ about being in love with me? Sure, okay, congrats. Give yourself a pat on the back, Steve. But I guarantee in a day or two you'll have done the emotional equivalent of sobering up, and wish you hadn't said anything.”

Anger washed away the lethargy, tamped down on the confusion, and the shock, pushed aside thoughts of panic attacks, or anything else. Steve was on his feet before he was aware of standing. It was the triumphant look on Tony's face that cut through the fog, brought him up short. Tony was trying to provoke him, to prove a point, and none of it made any damn sense!

Steve took a breath, and was surprised how calm he managed to sound when he spoke. “Tell me what you need.”

Tony blinked his surprise, mouth falling open. “What I need?” Tony repeated, eyes narrowing. There was a challenging jut to Tony’s jaw, and maybe just a touch of cruelty in his eyes as well, but Steve supposed he deserved whatever he found there. “Fine. What I _need_ is to know what I said earlier that sent you running into the bathroom.”

As he stood there dumbfounded, Steve made an intuitive leap. Tony didn’t expect an answer to his question. He’d run the odds through that impressive brain of his, and come to the conclusion that Steve would do anything _but_ open his mouth, was counting on it, in fact, to win the argument by default. Tactically, this left Steve in the position of either living down to Tony’s expectations, or digging his heels in like the stubborn ass he knew he was. Which meant there really _wasn’t_ a choice—Steve was damned if he was backing down if their relationship was on the line.

“I think it was the look in your eyes, and the no-nonsense tone to your voice, when you said you were coming with me,” Steve spat, wondering how he was going to open his mouth and get the remaining words out without screaming. “Bucky did the same thing. I told you that, I think, that I was the only reason he joined the Army, and I don’t know, Tony, I… I got turned around in my head, and thought—”

“Steve,” Tony interrupted, but Steve could hardly hear him over the sound of his own hectic breathing.

“—I could feel the weight of him on my shoulders again. Smell his blood.”

God, and the look on Tony’s face. Horror. Of course it was horror, why wouldn’t it be? Steve let his eyes fall closed, then immediately reopened them, terrified by what he might find waiting for him in the darkness. The panic was rising, threatening to wipe him out, and this time, Steve wasn’t sure Tony would want to help him through the experience.

“Has that happened before?” Tony asked, his voice cracking.

Steve straightened up to his full height, dug deep. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Tony dragged a shaking hand over his face, fingertips digging into his temples, as he worried at his lower lip with his teeth. “Okay, let me just—”

“I’m sorry. I should never have let it happen,” Steve said. Some small, disconnected part of him recognized he was literally standing at attention, as if Tony was his commanding officer. That his tone was clipped, and disciplined, and reflected none of what he was currently feeling. “It was unacceptable, and unfair to subject you to something like that.”

Tony blinked at him, expression softening. “Steve, what you described sounds like a flashback. Panic attacks and flashbacks are _symptoms_. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“If I haven’t done anything wrong, why are we fighting?” Steve asked, wanting to get to the bigger issue at hand.

“We’re fighting because I’m an insecure _asshole_ ,” Tony explained equally calmly. His hands were so warm against Steve’s cheeks that they almost burned, but that was good, because it meant Steve could still feel him. “This isn’t your fault. This is me, and my shitty timing, and worse childhood, and all the people I trusted when I shouldn’t have.”

“Like me,” Steve pointed out.

A creeping numbness had taken over, which he was grateful for, even though Steve was fully aware it wouldn’t last. But for the moment, he could curl inward, push everything roughly aside, focus on the mission.

Tony winced, lowered his eyes. Took a deep breath. “No. Not like you, not at all. When I told you how you made me feel, you _listened_ , Steve. You listened to me, and you actively worked on making sure you didn’t repeat your mistakes. That… that’s _epic_. That’s a huge first in my life, okay?”

“Obviously, I need to do better,” Steve said evenly. “And I _will_ , Tony. I want to be able to tell you that I love you, and have you believe me. I understand that isn’t going to happen today, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from attempting to convince me I’m mistaken about what I feel. Does that seem fair?”

Tony was staring at him as if Steve’s head had turned round the wrong way. “Uh, yes?”

“If I promise to show reasonable restraint, do I have your permission to use the words?”

“Steve, all my shit can wait,” Tony insisted patiently. “I shouldn't have let it get this far. We're both too keyed up, and off balance.”

“Your feelings are important to me, Tony. _You're_ important to me. If you don't answer the question, I'll take it as a no, and respect your wishes, but I'm going to ask you again at a later date.”

“Seriously?” Irritation had worked its way back into Tony's voice, prompting him to snap his mouth shut, and rub his eyes. “Fine. You have my permission, but if you start going on about it all the time I'm going to revoke it.”

Relief washed through Steve; maybe he hadn't ruined everything after all. “Thank you.”

“Great, now that we've taken a detour into my low self esteem, can we maybe refocus?”

Steve glanced at the clock, surprised to see how much time had passed. Guilt slammed into his chest as he realized he'd forgotten about checking on Peter. That the threat had only been real in his own imagination brought Steve little comfort. It was more the principle of the thing.

“How often are you having flashbacks?”

“Can we talk on the way?” Steve asked, looking around for his shoes. He'd had them on before showering, so headed to the bathroom.

“Wait, where are we going?” Tony called.

When Steve came out of the bathroom they almost collided, Tony's eyes wide with concern as Steve brushed past him. “Queens. I still have to check on Peter.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Tony asked very carefully. “You're not exactly yourself at the moment.”

“Yes. I am,” Steve countered, shoving his dirty clothes into his overnight bag before grabbing his phone off of the nightstand, “but I understand if you've changed your mind. I won't run there—I can call a cab.”

Steve marched out of the bedroom, needing to keep moving. As long as he had a goal to focus on, he could keep everything else at bay, work his way back to a state of equilibrium one accomplished task at a time, gain himself enough room to breathe. Getting to Peter was first, then—

“Steve, sweetheart, you sound like a robot.”

Wouldn't that be nice? If he was a robot, he could ask Tony to reprogram him. “Sorry, still just a kid from Brooklyn.”

He was already shrugging on his coat when Tony caught up with him. “Won't Peter be confused?”

“I don't need to go inside,” Steve explained, slowly losing what little patience he had left. “I only need visual confirmation that the Parker’s residence is secure.”

“You've done this before.” Tony definitely wasn't asking a question.

“Yes.”

Steve zipped up, and fished out his phone, intending to call a cab, but was stopped by Tony’s hand wrapping around his wrist. Tony was watching him, not bothering to hide his concern. “I'll take you,” he said, holding Steve's gaze.

“Thank you, Tony.”

When Steve tugged on his hand, Tony didn't put up a fight, allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace. Steve wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pressed a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, and breathed in the scent of freshly washed Tony. Hands stroked up along his back, fingers sliding into his hair, until Tony was cupping Steve’s face, and staring up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Don't worry, Tony. I'm fine,” Steve told him, desperately wanting to believe the words were true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO~! For those of you looking to protect their souls / survive the rockiness ahead, we're looking at the end of Chapter 17 and Chapter 18 being the primary source of anguish. We'll have happy tears by the end of #18, but if you can't handle a week between 17 & 18 with a crushed soul? Maybe skip a week so you can get through all the pain at once. Or... you can roll with it. Sit with the pain, and meditate on it. 
> 
> That previously mentioned feel-good Bucky x Clint story that technically takes place _after_ the events of Ch.18 (but does not contain spoilers) will be posted on AO3 after Ch. 17 goes up, so that you have a soothing balm to apply to your heart before we hit Ch. 18.
> 
> Meanwhile, um... So, that happened. How's everybody doing? Yeah? Good. I'll just... hide over here... with all of Steve's issues, which he's very much still trying to pretend no one will notice. LA LA LA, everything is FINE! Also, some time has passed between Ch. 15 and 16, and Tony has been living with the info dump Bucky shared with him. Next week we'll get a better understanding as to how that pressure has been sitting with him.
> 
> Oh, someone left a guest comment and was worried about cheating potentially happening, so I wanted to assure everyone that cheating will not be an issue for any of the couples in this universe. I'm not good enough of a writer to imagine a way to "solve" that level of trust being violated. >____>;;;;


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting what you want isn't always a good thing.

“How about you, Tony?” Clint asked, dragging him back into the conversation. “You a one and done kinda guy, or are you gonna be a repeat customer?”

Tony made a noncommittal noise as he took a sip of his coffee. “I’d say the odds of me getting another tattoo are about 98.3%, but it’s not like I need to rush anything.”

“Careful, you don’t wind up like Stevie,” Bucky warned, making a grand entrance with a stack of pizza boxes, “or it’ll be 2027 before you get anythin’ new done.”

Clint snorted, far too invested in attempting to liberate a slice of pizza before Bucky could even set the boxes down to do much more. Tony watched the ensuing battle, which involved a lot of keep away, hand slapping, and eventually whining on Clint’s part, then looked from Sam to Natasha for context.

“2027? I feel like I’m missing something.”

Sam made an ‘after you’ gesture toward Natasha, who accepted with a slight bow before shifting to face Tony. “They're talking about the big, empty spot on his chest,” she explained. “According to Steve, it's prime real estate, and as such is reserved.”

“For what, nobody knows,” Clint added around a mouthful of pizza, “including Steve.”

“Including Steve what?” the man in question asked as he entered the office.

As had been happening with increasing frequency, Tony found himself on high alert, instantly worried about how Steve might react to a situation. He supposed it was understandable on some level, considering what he’d witnessed. Any sane, rational person would be worried about someone they loved potentially having a flashback at a really inconvenient time. Like while out for a run. Or in the middle of tattooing someone. Or maybe while driving home with Peter after Sunday dinner at the old house, where he would have been sitting opposite the brother he’d apparently carried across his shoulders through a hail of bullets. Not that Tony had spent most of last Sunday scared shitless that anything of the sort would happen, mind you. Why would he do that? After all, Steve was _fine_.

Tony was beginning to understand why Bucky hated that particular word. He was also exceedingly grateful that Bucky had decided to break ranks, and talk to him one on one. Tony wasn’t sure what he would have done if he hadn’t already been prepared for Steve’s PTSD to crash the party. Even _with_ the heads up, he’d still managed to make a mess of things.

So, sure, worrying about Steve seemed to be something everyone currently in the building had in common—as long as you excluded _Steve_ from that list—and Tony didn’t doubt for a second that Bucky loved his brother, and spent way too much time worrying about the state of his mental health, but Tony was willing to bet he was the only person in the room experiencing a deeply shameful sense of nostalgia. Because, in a lot of ways, Tony felt like he was a kid again. Steve wasn’t a drunk, which was a nice change of pace. He didn’t delight in expounding upon all of the ways in which Tony was a failure, or an all around disappointment, and he hadn’t shown any signs of violence, either, but the situation still _felt_ familiar. Worrying about what could potentially set someone off. Wondering what version of the person you were going to be dealing with when you saw them. Desperately wanting a strong, almost imposing male figure to love him.

Tony could make some educated guesses, but since Steve was doing his level best to pretend he was _fine_ , Tony didn’t exactly know what might potentially trigger another flashback. Last time he’d been getting dressed, and talking about the two of them sticking together, for fuck’s sake! Assuming, of course, that the night of The L-bomb Debacle (as Tony had come to call it in his head) had been the last time Steve had experienced a flashback. His very careful inquiries over the 5 days, 19 hours, and 26 minutes since it had happened hadn’t exactly yielded positive results, mostly because Tony was terrified to press the issue.

Despite the uncomfortable, squirmy sort of nervousness that accompanied Steve’s arrival while they happened to be discussing him, Tony was fully aware no one had _actually_ been doing anything wrong. Maybe a week ago he wouldn’t have worried so much, but now? Steve’s tattoos were deeply personal, and Tony had to assume they were specifically tied to his traumatic experiences. There was always the possibility he'd react badly to people discussing them, especially behind his back.

“You and your blank canvas, man,” Sam answered, placing a hand over his chest in the corresponding area.

To Tony's relief, Steve only rolled his eyes, and made his way over to where Tony was seated. “Some of us consider tattoos _art_ , and take them seriously,” Steve said, pausing to lean over and kiss a still seated Tony before shrugging out of his coat. “Until I have the perfect piece, the spot stays empty.”

“Meanwhile, we've been listening to him hemming and hawing for like ten years now,” Bucky explained.

“Seven and a half,” Clint corrected, which prompted Bucky to poke him in the side. “Hey, don’t blame me for understanding how time works. S’not my fault you skipped that day at school.”

Steve handed Tony a paper plate loaded up with two slices of pizza, then grabbed another helping for himself before settling into the empty space waiting for him beside Tony on the loveseat.

“Not everyone covers themselves in cartoon characters,” Steve pointed out with a wry smile. “Tattoos are permanent for a reason; they should have _gravitas_.”

Bucky waved away Steve’s words as if he was swatting a fly, attention focused on Tony. “He’s got _loads_ of sketchbooks full of rejected designs.”

Beside him, Steve huffed with laugher. “Or _two_ ,” he clarified for Tony’s benefit, while steadfastly ignoring the fact that Bucky was flipping him off from across the room.

“I swear, at this point he’s just keepin’ it empty to fuck with us.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Steve _does_ work in mysterious ways,” Sam joked, raising his glass.

Tony tensed in anticipation of Steve reacting badly to the teasing, but instead, he just grinned, and said, “That I do,” before taking another bite of pizza. “Do I even want to know what got us on this particular topic of conversation?”

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Bucky said, grinning wildly. “You’re a tattoo artist, sitting with other tattoo artists in the back of your tattoo parlor, in a room full of people covered with tattoos, and you’re askin’ how _tattoos_ came up in the conversation?”

Steve shrugged, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yup.”

“Clint wanted to know if I was getting any more work done,” Tony explained.

Steve perked up with obvious excitement, much to Tony’s surprise. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Still kicking around ideas,” Tony answered. “If Bruce was here he’d suggest I’m more likely to have _Star Trek_ references make an appearance than cartoons. Either way, I'm definitely on Team Rogers as far as the gravitas goes.”

Watching the smile work its way across Steve’s face was something else; slow, almost shy, those pretty blue eyes lighting up his face as he watched Tony shove more pizza into his mouth. “See? No wonder I fell in love with you.”

Tony's artificial heart felt like it lurched in his chest in response to Steve's pronouncement, his ears ringing, as if someone had smacked him upside the head.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” Steve continued, as if he hadn't just shocked the room into silence. “I know the owner of this place, so I might be able to get you a discount.”

Steve was still watching him, the look in his eyes making Tony exceedingly uncomfortable. This wasn't some reciprocal, stress-induced confession, thrown out in the middle of full-on panic. It was a bold declaration, one that meant Tony was suddenly sympathetic for all those people put on the spot by public proposals of marriage. What the hell were you supposed to do when someone hit you with something like that out of the blue, especially in a room full of people you knew?

To top it all off, Tony had no idea what had prompted Steve to break out the L-word after almost a week of silence on that front. There was always the chance that it was down to pure stubbornness, Steve wanting to prove Tony wrong about his insistence that Steve would regret his words once he was in a different state of mind. Only, nothing of the sort was reflected in Steve’s expression. No, instead Steve appeared hesitant, the faintest flush of pink spreading across his cheeks as he gazed at Tony with open affection, and blinding hope.

Tony swallowed his mouthful of food, feeling as if everyone was staring at him, which they probably were. What he wanted to do was set down his plate, and walk out of the room, keep going until he was back at the Tower, hidden safely away in his workshop. Maybe he'd have a chance of properly assessing the situation if he had a couple hours, and the opportunity to shout and flail in private.

There was also the urge to drag Steve out of the room, throw ‘reasonable restraint’ back in his stupid, handsome face, because this felt like _neither_ of those things. It felt like a gauntlet being thrown down, except in all the ways it _didn't_. Because Steve was waiting for a sign, for any indication that he’d done better this time, and that was kind of terrifying, since it left Tony desperately wanting to suspend all disbelief, and maybe throw himself at Steve, hold onto him and never let go again.

That was a bad idea, though. Tempting as it was to take Steve at his word, Tony was all too aware that heartbreak hung out at the end of that particular street. Steve had managed to miss out on the whole puppy love thing when he was a kid, so in a lot of ways he was simply making up for lost time. Tony was willing to concede Steve _thought_ he was in love, but once the dust settled, that would likely change. After all, this was the same guy who looked Tony dead in the eyes and swore he was _fine_ after rather spectacularly displaying almost every last symptom of PTSD, as if he was going for a full punch card or something.

Slowly, Steve lowered his eyes, one corner of his mouth trembling as the smile wavered, threatened to disappear entirely. As he ducked his chin, Steve met Tony's eyes once again, a last, fleeting glance. The hope had fizzled out, replaced with something that looked an awful lot like shame, mixed with an apology, and disappointment.

Tony experienced a bottom dropping out sensation. Unlike Steve, there was no question as to Tony's feelings. He _loved_ Steve, and seeing that look on his face, knowing he was the one to put it there, left Tony sick to his stomach.

“I'll be sure to take you up on that,” Tony said softly, reaching for Steve, curling a hand around the nape of his neck. Steve moved with him, their mouths meeting in the middle, the kiss as sweet as the smile that had found its way back onto Steve’s face. Tony squeezed the back of his neck, and kissed him again.

Looking into his eyes, you'd think Tony had just reciprocated his declaration of love the way a normal, well adjusted person might have done. Apparently, not telling him he was wrong, or trying to make him take back the words was victory enough for Steve. Tony hated how much that made him want to cry.

“Thor said He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named keeps talking about getting work done, and I wanna officially put forth a vote to boycott his magician ass,” Clint said, thankfully taking some of the attention off of Steve and Tony.

“I don’t know,” Natasha said, “his money still spends.”

“Until it disappears from the cash register, all ‘ta da!’ style,” Clint argued.

While the rest of the room latched onto the opportunity to act as if nothing had happened, Bucky stared hard enough for Tony to feel the weight of his gaze. As soon as he looked up, Bucky gave him a very obvious, “I told you so,” look, along with a challenging eyebrow raise.

Beside him, Steve shifted, so that they were pressed against each other thigh to thigh, and draped his arm along the back of the loveseat. Everything about him seemed so relaxed that it was impossible for Tony to think of anything aside from how rigid Steve had been the last time they'd seen each other.

Watching Steve effectively case the Parker’s house had been unsettling on multiple levels. Tony was amazed Steve hadn't been picked up and questioned by the cops during one of his late night visits, considering he was skulking around the place, checking doors and windows, and whatever other ritualistic mojo he needed to perform in order to be satisfied that Peter was safe. The way he shimmied up into the tree closest to Peter’s window was impressive, and depressing as fuck, considering it showcased the familiarity of Steve's routine.

“Whenever I need to,” had been the entirely unhelpful answer when Tony asked how often Steve headed to Queens for late night reconnaissance missions.

They hadn't bothered heading back to Manhattan, and Steve hadn’t been interested in Tony coming upstairs with him, so after a kiss goodbye, and an almost desperate hug from Tony, they'd parted ways. Heading home had been his plan, right up until the freak out hit him full force, prompting Tony to pull over on the side of the road, and do some borderline illegal snooping via his phone until he found Bucky’s address.

Since he'd already been up for several long, stressful hours, Tony was momentarily thrown for a loop when Bucky came down in pajama pants and a hoodie, all scruffy, and looking like he’d just fallen out of bed.

“Is anyone hurt?” Bucky asked, eyes scanning up and down the empty street, before pulling Tony into the building, as if they were being watched.

“Physically? No. _Psychologically_? That’s a different story.”

“Upstairs, now.”

Bucky hadn't let go of Tony’s wrist after pulling him into the building, which was almost a relief. He tugged Tony along behind him as if he was a wayward child, not speaking until they'd made it up the three flights of stairs, and down the hallway to his apartment.

Clint was waiting for them, standing in the middle of the living room, rubbing his eyes, while Lucky whined at his feet. “What happened?”

“Hold up a second,” Bucky snapped. “Tony, go on, take a seat. I’m guessin’ we’re all gonna want coffee for this.”

When Tony continued to stand there like an idiot, Clint picked up where Bucky had left off, and led him over to the couch. Lucky followed, settling his head atop Tony's knee. Without thinking, Tony started petting the dog, and by the time Bucky returned with a large mug of coffee, Tony was slightly more relaxed, even if he was covered with dog hair.

“Sorry, he's shedding like a mother fucker.” Clint presented Tony with a spoon, and what looked to be a chocolate pudding snack pack.

Unsure what else to do, Tony accepted the offerings, holding them for a moment before peeling back the top on the container, and taking a spoonful. There was something stupidly comforting about the sweetness rolling across his tongue, and the act of dragging the spoon through the pudding.

“I fucked up,” he blurted, the weight of it all hitting him hard. Tony sagged into the couch, and kept his eyes focused on the little pudding pack in his hand, overwhelmed beyond measure.

Even with his eyes lowered, Tony could sense Bucky tensing up. He was perched on the edge of a chair nearby, leg bobbing up and down, up and down, all nervous energy. “Forget the blame game for a minute. What happened?”

“Uh, your brother woke up at three in the morning from a panic attack, and was about to run to Queens to make sure Peter hadn’t been abducted by aliens, or whatever, before I managed to talk him down,” Tony explained, pausing to take a deep breath, “only I then somehow managed to trigger a _flashback_ , which was ten times more terrifying, and apparently I lose control of my filter when I’m sleep deprived, scared, and the only sane person in the room, because the next thing I know we’re arguing, and Steve is acting like a universal soldier pod person! _That’s_ what happened.”

Sometime during his rant, Bucky had moved from the chair, and joined Tony on the couch. Metal fingers curled around his shoulder, squeezing gently as Tony took a shuddering breath, and tried to get himself back under control.

“Right, okay, let’s tackle this a piece at a time,” Bucky suggested, his voice nice and even. “What the fuck’s a universal pod soldier, or whatever the hell you just said?”

Tony stabbed at his pudding with the spoon, then took another mouthful, shrugging his shoulder. “One minute he was _Steve_ , and the next it was like… militant robot Steve.”

Bucky frowned in the general direction of the floor. “Standing so straight he looks like he’s about ten feet tall, and talking with the command voice?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded, surprised when Bucky shared a sympathetic smile.

“Congrats, sounds like you met Captain Rogers,” Clint announced, blowing loudly across his steaming mug. He made himself comfortable in Bucky’s vacated chair, and then tossed a salute in Tony’s direction.

“Spent a lot of time with Captain Rogers,” Bucky said sadly, “‘Of course, usually people were shootin’ at us when he was like that. Sorta like he shuts off anything that’s outside the scope of the mission, so he can focus, no matter how bad shit gets, and keep going. It’s only creepy once the bullets stop flying, and he’s still actin’ that way.”

“Creepy or not, Captain Rogers saved _my_ ass more than once,” Clint added softly.

“Same.” Bucky shifted uncomfortably, and cleared his throat. “Alright, so what’s the stuff with Peter?”

“Hey, did you by any chance miss the part where your brother is having _flashbacks_?” Tony asked, losing patience.

“How do you know that’s what happened?” Clint asked, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees. Bucky looked like he wanted to interrupt, but snapped his mouth closed instead, and folded his arms across his chest.

Tony exhaled. “I’m making an educated guess based on what I saw, and what he told me.”

Bucky sat up straighter, grabbed hold of Tony again. “Wait, he _talked_ to you?” Tony nodded, guilt worming its way through his chest. “What’d he say?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then found himself closing it again, momentarily at a loss. It was just occurring to Tony that Steve’s traumatic event was also Bucky’s. And Clint’s for that matter. Now he had the fun of trying to explain what he’d learned to people who were there to experience it the first time around, and—

“It’s me, ain’t it?” Bucky asked, sounding like someone had just knocked the air out of him. “He’s having fuckin’ flashbacks about saving me.”

“Yes.” Tony winced as Bucky jumped up onto his feet, and paced over to the windows, Lucky whining sympathetically, and padding off after him. “Of, um, he said he could _feel_ you. Carrying you, I mean, while running. And, uh, smell blood. I’m no expert, but not knowing where you are, and feeling things that happened to you years ago sure sounds like a flashback to me.”

Clint’s expression was carefully neutral when he climbed out of the chair, and walked over to where Bucky was standing ramrod straight. Tony tried and failed to give them a moment to themselves, but couldn’t seem to look away. Clint knocked his shoulder against Bucky’s metal one, which led to him being pulled into a rough hug, the two of them rocking back and forth together, Bucky’s face hidden against Clint’s neck, while his shoulders shook.

With a pang of jealousy, Tony turned, and focused on his coffee. It was still too hot to drink, but he took a sip anyway, wincing at the discomfort. “As for the stuff with Peter, it sounds like out of nowhere he get’s a feeling that Peter is in danger, or something, and then has to go get ‘visual confirmation’ before he can stand down.”

“Shit,” Bucky grunted, sniffing suspiciously. He was still wiping at his face when he stalked back over to the couch to plop down beside Tony once more. “I thought he stopped doing that.”

Tony took another sip of coffee, and tried to rein in his irritation. “Well, you thought wrong. I took him by there so he wouldn’t run, or take a cab, then Captain Rogers said goodnight, and I came here.”

“I’m real sorry,” Clint said. “Sounds like a lot of shit got dumped in your lap tonight.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Tony snapped, “I’m the idiot who managed to get in a fight with him while he’s in the middle of a crisis.”

“Believe me, Steve’s pretty good at getting into arguments under the best of circumstances, let alone when his hackles are up.” Bucky looked like the tears might make a comeback at any moment. “Opening his goddamned mouth and telling you about the flashback is _big_ , Tony. That’s more than any of us have managed over the years.”

Tony wondered what it said about him that he felt a thrill at Bucky’s words, as if they backed up the notion that Steve actually loved him. Hope guttered in his chest, but there was no point in torturing himself. Sitting in his car outside of the Parker’s house while Steve cased the joint was the closest Tony had come to meeting Peter, which said it all, really. Sometimes he hated being right.

“Did he, ah… you got any idea what set him off?”

“Which time?” Tony snorted, and shook his head, a nervous laugh escaping despite his best attempts to contain it. Groaning, he slouched down into the corner of the couch. “Sorry. The more time passes, the more the _enormity_ of the situation dawns on me. I’ve had anxiety attacks, or whatever you want to call them, and you know what they are? _Memorable_. And hard to ignore, because you think you’re dying while it’s happening. So what the hell am I supposed to do with a guy who's so in denial he can’t even recognize a panic attack when he has one?”

Bucky cursed under his breath, shiny fingers curling inward as he made a fist. “Yeah, fair enough.”

Tony swallowed the last of his coffee, and ran a hand through his hair. “I told him if he was going to run to Queens to check on Peter, so was I, and that...” Tony winced, thinking of the heartache in Steve’s eyes, because of him, and his crippling insecurities. “That we’d do it _together_. I guess you gave him some shit when he joined the Army, and my response to his crazy reminded him of _yours_ from years ago, and then one thought leads to another, and—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Bucky interrupted, his tone much less friendly. “And don’t let me ever hear you call him crazy again, either.”

“Sorry, I was attempting to refer to his erratic and irrational behavior, not his actual state of being,” Tony snapped, tossing the emptied pudding container onto the table, and burying his head in his hands. “I know he’s not crazy. He’s… he’s _injured_. Hurting. Shit. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Depends, I guess,” Clint answered, after the silence stretched out for too long to be comfortable. “What’re you after?”

“What am I _after_?” Tony asked, looking up, brows furrowed. “With Steve?” Clint just stared at him, while Bucky rubbed at his temples, steadfastly not acknowledging either of them. “I want him to be happy,” Tony almost shouted, nerves completely shot. “I want to be able to have a conversation without worrying if I’ll accidentally trigger another flashback, or panic attack, or whatever else he’s dealing with all on his own. Or _not_ dealing with, I should say. I don’t know how the hell you’ve been living with this for the past couple of years. I’m terrified I’ve made things a thousand times worse, which is why I’m here. I’m not a qualified mental health professional! _Fuck_ , Clint.”

“Nobody’s expecting you to be,” Bucky insisted. He motioned to Lucky, who interpreted the gesture to mean jump up on the couch, and sit on Tony, which was unfortunate; it was hard to hold onto indignation when a dog was licking your face. “But look on the bright side. He actually opened his mouth.”

“Right, the same mouth he used to tell me not to worry, because he was _fine_. Am I the only one with an overactive imagination? Because I’ve got plenty of ‘what if? scenarios’ to spare.”

Tony couldn’t bring himself to say any of them aloud, especially any of the ones centering around Peter having a completely typical little kid type accident, like tripping over his own feet, and winding up with a bloody nose. Would Steve spiral out of control, convinced he was back in uniform, unaware of what was really happening around him? How was a five year old supposed to cope with daddy having a flashback, when a forty year old couldn’t?

“No thanks, I already got loads of ‘em,” Bucky answered, shooting Tony a weary smile.

Shame washed over Tony, along with it’s friend guilt. “I know, Bucky. Sorry I’m being such an asshole. Apparently it’s the theme I’m working with tonight. This morning? Whenever it is. I know you all do dinner together on Sundays, and I wanted to make sure you guys had a heads up, in case… I don’t know. He shows up in Captain mode, or worse.”

“He’s pretty good about keeping up appearances around the Howlies,” Clint said, stifling a yawn. “And if Petey is there, he can focus on the kid, and let the rest slide.”

Bucky sighed, and sat up a bit straighter. “I know tonight sucked, but you gotta understand something, Tony. To me? This is like the light at the end of the tunnel. Steve stayed with us when he first got out, and like I told you, he’d put on an act right after waking you up screaming his head off. Not once did he let anyone see him in the state you did tonight, and he sure as shit hasn’t opened his mouth with anyone else, either.”

“That’s the problem with falling in love,” Clint said, playing with the fabric of his pajama pants. “It’s too big of an emotion. You start feeling it, and it gets real hard to turn everything else off. And that’s what Steve’s been doing for years and years now.”

Tony swallowed his protests. He’d argued about the fucking L-word enough for a lifetime. “So, what, I should give myself a pat on the back, because I’m helping Steve hit bottom?”

“I hope you realize nobody's expecting you to fix him,” Bucky pointed out, eyebrow arched. “But out of all of us, you’re the only one he’s let himself open up to. So, when the time comes, and he asks for help, encourage him to get it from professionals. And hopefully support him when he finally does it.”

Bucky made it all sound so easy. “You really think he’ll get help?” Tony asked, scared of the answer.

“If the alternative is losing you?” Bucky answered, eyes narrowing. “Damn straight he will.”

Trying to find a way to respond to that was next to impossible, so Tony let it slide, and hugged the dog, instead. Eventually, he found himself loaded up with Clint and Sam’s cell phone numbers just in case he needed to get ahold of someone, and Bucky didn’t answer, along with another pudding pack, and a parting hug from both men.

“Crazy as it sounds, try to get some rest, and focus on taking care of yourself,” Clint suggested. “It’s real easy to burn out worrying about the person in crisis, but right now, there’s nothin’ you can do but hang in there.”

“Call us if you need to talk,” Bucky had added.

Tony had taken him up on it, which meant he was also waiting for Steve to figure out that Tony had been talking to his friends and family behind his back for the last week, and then shut him out completely. Or a thousand and one other alternatives that in no way, shape, or form resembled the current reality of a relaxed, affectionate Steve Rogers proclaiming his love for Tony over pizza.

“You okay?” Steve asked softly, dragging Tony out of his thoughts. “You’ve been quiet.”

As he opened his mouth to lie and say he was fine, Tony caught himself, and almost burst out laughing. Perfect, he was officially just as bad as Steve. “Got a lot on my mind,” Tony admitted, heart hammering against his ribcage, nerves threatening to get the best of him.

Before he could figure out a way to ask, Steve beat him to it, leaning in close, so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Did you want to head upstairs so we can talk in private?”

“Yeah, actually,” Tony admitted, relief making him feel almost dizzy. “That would be great.”

Steve nodded, and got to his feet, prompting everyone to look at him. “We’re calling it a night, I think.”

“Go on, we’ll clean up,” Sam said, leaning over to swat at Steve’s hands when he went to start gathering up discarded paper plates, abandoned pizza crusts, and napkins.

“Thanks. See you tomorrow,” Steve said, a chorus of goodbyes following them as they made their way out of the office, and through the empty shop.

As he followed Steve upstairs, Tony felt a little like he was walking to his own execution. He wasn’t sure how, or even what, they were going to talk about. All he knew was that sitting downstairs and pretending everything was fine wasn’t doing it for Tony, not by a longshot. And yet, Steve was in such a good mood, it seemed like a dick move to not roll with it, actually spend the evening relaxing together instead of dragging skeletons out of closets.

“Can we talk about Clint and Bucky’s faces?” Tony asked as he entered the apartment behind Steve. “As in, what the hell is happening on them at the moment?”

Steve laughed, loud and light, the question obviously catching him by surprise. “Damned if I know. I’m going to have to pull Clint aside and have words if he doesn’t do something about the scruff soon, though. The shop has a reputation to maintain, and I’ve caught him with food stuck in his beard at least three times this week.”

“Awesome facial hair should be left to the professionals,” Tony agreed, smoothing over his own beard, surprised when this prompted more laughter from Steve.

“Did you want more coffee?” Steve asked as he picked up one of Peter’s tiny sneakers, and placed it with the other shoes arranged neatly by the door.

“No, I’m good.” Now that they were upstairs, alone, and in a position to talk, Tony had no idea how to start, or even what he wanted to say, so he wandered over to the couch, and took a seat, sighing to himself.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” Steve announced, sitting beside him. He appeared genuinely contrite, hands clasped in his lap, as he stared into Tony’s eyes.

“Reasonable restraint,” Tony said through a tight jaw, resigning himself to the reality of talking about his issues. After his and Bucky’s heart to heart, Tony had been trying to find some way to lead by example. That had been his intention the night Steve went off the rails, before everything got away from him. Only, he’d been relieved when Steve had passed on the opportunity, content to play it safe, instead, keep his mouth shut, the same way Steve had been behaving for years.

“In my defense, I wanted to say ‘I love you’ every time I heard your voice this week,” Steve said, surprising him, “so it felt like reasonable restraint on my end.”

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, and leaned forward, head in his hands, elbows on knees, feeling like he needed to brace for impact. “I wasn’t kidding when I said this predates you, Steve. I had nine fun filled years with Howard before you were even born, okay? And ten more after that before he died. It might have been a short run as far as parents go, but the guy was an overachiever, so he packed in a lifetime’s worth of issues.”

One of Steve’s large, warm hands settled between Tony’s shoulder blades, and rubbed soothingly. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, and relaxed just the tiniest bit.

“Okay. I’ll do my best not to take it personal,” Steve said solemnly. “For a minute there earlier, I thought you were going to walk out.”

Tony wondered how it would have gone over with Steve’s friends if he _had_. “I considered it.”

“Thanks for staying.” Steve’s hand continued moving, back and forth, fingers sliding up to squeeze Tony’s shoulder, ease some of the tension there. “I understand if you need me to stop.”

“Not really,” Tony sighed, chewing on his lower lip. “I mean, sure, you’re willing to be _understanding_ , but it isn’t like I’ve done anything to provide context for you to be able to get where I’m coming from. Which is kind of shitty of me, Steve. I’ve been dragging all sorts of stuff out from behind your walls. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Steve shifted, as if Tony’s words had struck an uncomfortable chord within. “I know what it feels like, not wanting… Some things _shouldn’t_ be talked about.”

“Right, see, the problem is, that’s bullshit, Steve,” Tony said, turning so he could look Steve in the eyes. “Maybe it’s a little easier at first, but it all turns to poison the longer you keep it bottled up inside. First you lose perspective, and then you lose control. Before you know it, people are shoving cameras in your face, and asking for quotes while you stagger into rehab.”

Tony’s words had Steve sitting ramrod straight, jaw tight, and brow furrowed. “The rest of the world may have decided you gave up your right to privacy when you were born a Stark, but I’m not them. You’ve shared plenty with me, Tony, more than you probably realize.”

“So, what, that’s it? You’re just willing to accept whatever I feel like telling you?”

Steve scowled, eyes narrowed, and Tony’s heart gave a little jump at the assessing look being sent his way. “Are you _mad_ at me for not interrogating you about your self-described shitty childhood?”

“No, but it’d be nice to feel like you had any interest in finding out about all the shit that makes me tick,” Tony snapped, sitting up a little straighter himself. “Which you _haven’t_ shown, by the way. I love you doesn’t count if you’re only in love with the _idea_ of a person.”

There was that awful, gut wrenching sensation again. Tony watched the hurt flair up in Steve’s eyes, and wished he could rewind their conversation, maybe leave out some of the vitriol.

“I’ve seen photos of you when you were Peter’s age. All I saw were two self-absorbed, so called parents either treating their son like a prop, or dragging their child in front of the press so he could perform tricks like a trained animal. It pissed me off, but mostly made me want to find that little boy, and give him a hug, tell him that one day he was going to meet someone who wanted to make up for all the years other people made him feel like he wasn’t good enough. I’m sorry, I haven’t done a very good job of that, yet.”

Tony’s mouth was hanging open, and whatever arguments he’d had queued up seemed to fizzle out and die. Steve was all steely determination, and had obviously been offended by Tony’s accusations.

“And I thought we agreed you were going to stop trying to tell me what I’m feeling,” Steve added after a moment.

“You’re right.” Tony blinked, and shook his head. “We did. Sorry.”

“I know I don’t exactly make things easy, Tony,” Steve said, slouching back into the couch. “Which is why it meant so much when… Hearing you use the word love when talking about _me_.” Tony looked down as Steve reached for his hand, and twined their fingers together. “Nothing you tell me about your past is going to make me love you less. If anything, I’ll love you more.”

“You can’t know that,” Tony argued weakly, even as he squeezed Steve’s hand.

Beside him, Steve took a deep breath, and then tugged Tony closer, pulled him into an embrace. Beneath Tony’s ear, Steve’s heart beat far too quickly, even as he sighed, and rested his cheek atop Tony’s head. “Have you ever killed someone?”

Steve’s voice was a deep, somber rumble, one that prompted Tony to squeeze his eyes shut as he answered, “No,” honestly.

“There you go then,” Steve said, running his hand through Tony’s hair, fingernails dragging pleasantly against his scalp. “I have. If you can still be with me knowing that—”

“Steve, you were in the _Army_ ,” Tony interrupted, burrowing closer. “I’m not trying to start an argument over semantics or anything, but you have to admit that makes a pretty big difference!”

“It doesn’t _feel_ different,” Steve rumbled, his grip on Tony tightening. “Not to me, anyway.”

Tony took a deep breath, nostrils filling with the comforting, familiar scent of Steve Rogers. “Before meeting you, my success rate for trusting people, and having it pay off, is a pathetic 5.26%. Not exactly a confidence building statistic.” Tony swallowed, and held on tight. “I _want_ to believe you, Steve, but I’ve also wanted to believe a lot of other people over the years. I get that it’s shitty, and not really fair to you. And, um… I don’t know, maybe it’s something I need to work on. I’ve been kicking around the idea of going back into therapy.”

Instantly, Steve felt as if he was made of stone, muscles going tense.

“Going helped me a lot before,” Tony added, smoothing a hand over Steve’s broad chest. “You should have seen what a mess I was in my twenties. Thought I had it all figured out, too. I’d just party until I dropped dead, or all of my problems went away, whichever happened first.”

Steve ducked his head so he could press his lips against Tony’s forehead, arms tightening possessively. He was holding on as if worried Tony might disappear otherwise, and something about that felt incredibly satisfying. “I’m glad you got help, then,” Steve said, tilting Tony’s chin up so he could kiss him properly. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine my life without you.”

And this was the wonderfully dangerous thing about Steve, wasn’t it? The hot slide of his tongue against Tony’s, the hungry, possessive look in his eyes. The way he held on tight, and touched Tony as if he was something precious. Long gone were the days of dissociated orgasms. Sex was something they did _together_ now, an exercise in trust, and letting go, of opening to each other. When they were in bed, it was much easier for Tony to believe Steve loved him, because it sure as hell _felt_ that way.

The blood was rushing south, and Tony was tempted to push for something more, spend the night riding Steve’s cock until his thighs trembled, and they both fell into a sweaty, sated, oblivious night’s sleep, but Steve was already putting an end to the kiss.

“Nope,” Steve said, sounding breathless. “Not tonight. Tonight is for talking.”

“What? I’m a multitasker,” Tony joked, surprised when Steve immediately came back with, “There’s a strict no talking with your mouth full policy in the Rogers’ household.”

They stared at each other for a beat before the laughter took over, easing away a lot of the mounting tension. By the time Tony was finished wiping tears from his eyes, Steve was watching him, all seriousness.

“You’d actually go back into therapy?”

“Sure,” Tony answered, taking a deep breath. “I’ve always been my own worst enemy. I don’t want to risk messing up what we’ve built together with my insecurities.”

Steve stroked Tony’s cheek, and kissed him again, short and sweet. From where Tony was sitting, it looked like he had a lot on his mind. It was tempting to push, to suggest Steve give it a whirl, as well, but Tony kept his mouth shut, instead. The important thing was, Steve seemed to be mulling over the entire concept, which was more than he’d ever done before, according to Bucky.

“How about you,” Tony asked, running a hand over Steve’s hair, “how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Steve answered, lowering his eyes. His mouth trembled momentarily, before he risked looking up again, blue eyes wide open. “Nothing… nothing like last weekend has happened again, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good,” Tony answered, cupping Steve’s face in his hands, and kissing him softly. His heart was beating very fast, mostly from surprise. He’d fully expected Steve to pretend not to know why he was concerned. “I’m glad. I’m hoping you’ll tell me, when it does. I’ve been there—the anxiety attacks, anyway—and I hate the idea of you going through that alone.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. “Isn’t it bad enough I subjected you to that once?” he asked, mouth twisting into an ugly line. “I shouldn’t be letting it happen at all.”

“That’s not how these things work,” Tony answered calmly. “You might as well get angry at yourself for sneezing when you have a cold, Steve. I know I sure as hell never _wanted_ to have an anxiety attack.”

Steve’s eyes were very blue, and very bright when he opened them. “I never gave you the chance to tell me _why_ ,” he said, voice low and remorseful. “Does the offer still stand?”

Oddly enough, it was surprisingly easy for Tony to say yes. Stranger still, there was something deeply satisfying in discovering he was able to say Obadiah Stane’s name without immediately wanting to wash his mouth out with criminally expensive scotch. The betrayal still hurt, and likely always would, but not nearly as much as Tony had expected. That might have been because Steve held his hand, or rubbed his shoulders, or pulled him into a hug as he talked. Sometimes, Steve wore the same expression Rhodey got on his face when anything reminded him of Stane, which was unexpectedly comforting. Maybe some day the two men could bond over their mutual hatred.

It still sucked. There wasn't any way to sugar coat explaining how the man you'd come to think of as a surrogate father managed to fuck you over even worse than your piece of shit alcoholic dad did in the first place. Tony still felt like an idiot for ever believing Obie— _Stane_ —cared about him. And there was nothing even remotely resembling satisfaction in knowing he would spend the last years of his life in some country club prison for embezzlers. Being used as a cash cow, and manipulated by Stane would have been bad enough, but Stane not only didn't love him, he outright _loathed_ Tony.

“I should have done myself a favor, and rolled you onto your back one of those nights you were passed out drunk,” Stane had droned remorsefully, ignoring the pained expression on his lawyer’s face. The only other noise was someone in the courtroom coughing, the steady click-clack of the stenographer’s typing, and Tony’s own ragged breathing. “Watching you choke to death on your own vomit; now _that_ would have been a fitting end for you, boy.”

Tony could still remember an afternoon when he’d run from his father’s office straight into Stane’s knees, too blinded by tears to see where he was going. Stane had swung a then seven year old Tony Stark up into his arms, and told Tony that someday things would be better, all while rocking him in his arms. It didn’t seem fair that one of his only memories of being comforted as a child was nothing more than strategy. Stane had already been playing the long game, knowing that when Howard exited stage left, Tony would be there to take his place. Stane had watched, and waited, and always chosen his words very carefully, knowing exactly how to manipulate Howard Stark’s son.

The list of people who had used him was unfortunately long, but Stane had been the overachiever of the bunch, bribing Tony’s so called friends and lovers for dirt on him, encouraging his drinking without making it seem like that was what he was doing. Tony was left to look back, and wonder how extensive Stane’s betrayal went. After all, he’d been the one to push Tony toward getting involved ‘romantically’ with Ty Stone, and Stone had been the one to introduce Tony to coke, and hadn’t _that_ been a fun little downward spiral?

And, because he was a spectacular bastard, before being locked up, Stane had asked to talk to Tony one last time, which was when he’d hinted that the issues with Tony’s heart might not have been a badly timed coincidence, after all.

“He _poisoned_ you?” Steve growled, hands balled up in fists.

“I don’t know. That’s the whole point,” Tony answered, sliding his fingers beneath his glasses so he could rub at his eyes. “I’ll _never_ know. My heart condition could have always been there, or I could have caused it myself with the partying, or maybe he was telling the truth, and had been poisoning me for months. Either way, the results were the same. Me, driving myself crazy trying to think my way out of his fucked up logic puzzle, not knowing if I could trust the people around me. That’s when the anxiety attacks joined the party. They felt a lot like having a heart attack, so added bonus, right?”

Tony took a deep breath, and allowed Steve to pull him in close once again. Throughout the evening, Steve had made a point of maintaining physical contact, his touch as grounding as it was comforting.

“I thought something had gone wrong with the transplant,” Tony admitted. “There weren’t any symptoms that my body was rejecting the artificial heart, so I figured I was either dealing with hardware issues, or someone really _was_ trying to kill me on Stane’s behalf. Everything had worked great in simulations, but real life has a way of coloring outside the lines. It wasn’t even like I could turn to previous cases for answers, since I was my own guinea pig. That’s a big science no-no, by the way. Not that I had a choice.”

Paranoia had been his best friend for a long time after that, prompting Tony to cut himself off from the world, and his business, as he spent hour after sleepless hour running diagnostics, trying to track down the hidden flaw that was surely going to kill him.

Steve stroked Tony’s hair. “That sounds awful.”

Tony snorted. “That’s one word for it. I’m betting there never was any poison. Stane was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. If he’d actually tried to have me killed, he’d keep it to himself, in case I ever found a way to prove it.” Tony leaned heavily against Steve’s chest. “Of course, since he knows me so well, I then have to wonder if Stane _expected_ me to come to that conclusion, which leaves me right back where I started. That’s the problem when there’s not enough reliable data to do anything more than guess.”

Closing his eyes, Tony concentrated on the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest, the long week of worrying, and the subject matter of their conversation catching up with him. Too little sleep, and too much time spent agonizing over Steve, and all the ways Tony had made a mess of something that could have been wonderful to hear, under different circumstances. And while his intention had only been to show Steve that admitting you needed therapy didn’t have to be the end of the world, Tony was beginning to think he might be overdue for pouring some energy into himself, and his _own_ mental health.

“When did they stop?” Steve asked cautiously. “The… the attacks.”

Tony swallowed. “Once I stopped trying to pretend I was qualified to handle them on my own.”

Tangled together the way they were, it was impossible to ignore Steve’s physical response to the words. Once again, his heart was racing beneath Tony’s ear, his muscles tensing, his grip on Tony tightening.

“I’ve got three doctorates, and I might be egotistical enough to believe I could build a better heart than evolution, but everyone has their limitations, Steve. I was too far down the hole in my head to recognize that I should _climb out_ , instead of digging deeper.”

Carefully, Tony disentangled himself enough so he could look into Steve’s eyes. He looked an awful lot like a scared little boy, and it made Tony want to cry. “That’s how I was able to help you last week,” he said softly.

Steve closed his eyes, turning his face so as to press a kiss against the palm of Tony’s hand. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony said, finding a smile when Steve opened his eyes again. Then, for the first time, when the feeling hit him hard in the center of his chest, leaving him breathless, and vulnerable, Tony didn’t fight his mouth. He opened it, and said the words. “I love you, Steve.”

And when Steve’s eyes filled up with tears, and he said, “I love you, too, Tony,” for that moment, Tony let himself believe it was true. Tony forced himself to accept the words, and pulled Steve into a kiss, which led to another, and another, each hungrier than the last, until they found themselves staggering into Steve’s bedroom.

But instead of a frantic shedding of clothing, they took time undressing each other, kissing in between. Rather than crashing together to chase down pleasure, Steve pulled Tony into the bed, turned off the light, and wrapped himself around Tony. His breath was warm against the back of Tony’s neck, skin hot everywhere they touched. Steve kissed Tony’s shoulder, then the nape of his neck, words vibrating through Tony’s body when he spoke.

“Thank you, Tony. For trusting me. For… for hanging in there.”

“It’s only fair,” Tony whispered, winding his fingers through Steve’s own.

That Steve finished the sentence for him with, “Scared together, right?” felt monumental, and left Tony smiling in the darkness before sleep came for him.

So, _of course_ , the next time Tony opened his eyes, it was as if he’d stepped into an alternate reality.

“Wake up!”

Steve’s voice was loud, and sharp, and cut through everything. Tony blinked his eyes open, just as the covers were yanked off the bed, leaving him suddenly cold, and confused, adrenaline flooding in. “What’s happening?”

Tony had managed to sit up, and was trying to find his glasses when Steve tossed his clothes at him, hitting him square in the chest. “Get dressed, come on,” he said, before rushing out of the room.

Feeling stupid, and about ten steps behind, Tony stared at the clothes he was now holding, then looked around the room. Sun was shining in through the windows, the clock claiming it was almost eleven, which also didn’t make any sense. Steve’s built in alarm clock usually made him incompatible with sleeping in.

Steve stormed back into the room, and Tony found himself less confused, and far more concerned. “Hey, are you—”

“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Steve demanded.

Tony swallowed around his panic. “Did something happen?” he asked, putting on his shirt in the hopes that some movement on his part might help Steve calm down, and take a breath. “Is someone hurt?”

Steve was already dressed, but his boots were unlaced, his shirt was on inside out, and he was _shaking_ , his eyes wide and wild and not entirely there. Tony found himself in the odd position of hoping this was only another panic attack, or flashback, and not the result of an actual emergency, but until he had some data to work with, he had to assume the worst.

“Come on, move, move, _move_ ,” Steve insisted, sounding a lot like he was doing an impression of a drill sergeant.

“I’m _moving_ , okay!”

Tony climbed out of the bed and yanked on his pants, a sick sort of dread sitting heavily in his chest. He was willing to bet good money that everything was fine, except up in Steve’s head, where it had all gone horribly wrong. Unfortunately, he was also convinced attempting to talk Steve down wouldn’t get him very far.

“Do me a favor, Steve, and take five seconds to—”

Whatever patience Steve had was now officially gone. He curled a hand around Tony’s upper arm, and marched him out of the bedroom, ignoring the fact that Tony was still without shoes, and his pants had yet to be zipped up.

“Whoa, hey, I can walk without assistance, thank you!” Tony yanked his arm free, and staggered to a halt, taking a moment to zip and button his pants. “I need you to use your words, Steve.”

“We’re running out of time,” Steve growled, “you’ve got to go, the Parkers are already on their way here with Peter.”

Tony stopped in his tracks, glasses and shoes forgotten as he turned on his heels, and looked at Steve. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he asked, anger and despair grabbing hold of him. “I thought someone was _hurt_! Give me a minute to finished getting dressed, and I’ll leave.”

Apparently, that had been the wrong answer. Steve took three long strides, closing the distance between them, and for the briefest of moments, Tony thought of Howard Stark, and was convinced he was about to get smacked in the face. He braced himself for impact, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them again when he realized Steve was picking him up. It happened quickly; one minute he was standing, the next he was over Steve’s shoulders, one of Steve’s arms wound through his legs, so he could take hold of Tony’s wrist, a flawless execution of a fireman’s carry.

For a long, wild moment, Tony froze, thinking of Bucky, wondering if he ever had the counterpart to Steve’s flashbacks, where he felt himself jostled by Steve’s steady pace, or felt fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. They were halfway downstairs before everything caught up with him, and Tony realized Steve was carrying him outside.

“Whoa, wait, what the _fuck_ ,” Tony yelled, struggling, then stopping, terrified he was going to send them toppling down the stairs. “Put me down! _Steve_!”

But Steve either didn’t hear him, or didn’t particularly care what Tony wanted at the moment. He was flinging open the front door, and marching outside, Tony still over his shoulders. Now that they weren’t in danger of falling to their death, Tony struggled in earnest, fighting down his own rising panic, as Steve carried on as if this was any other morning. Frustrated and freaked out, Tony kneed Steve in the chest, and twisted around until he could shove at Steve with his free hand, surprised when his right wrist was finally released.

In a flurry of motion, he came tumbling down off of Steve’s shoulders, staggering, and almost falling on his ass in the street before strong hands grabbed hold of him again. Steve’s brows were furrowed, and he seemed almost as surprised as Tony was to find that they were outside. For several long, drawn out seconds, they stared at each other, until Tony felt the enormity of what had happened slam home, leaving him sick to his stomach.

Beneath his bare feet, the ground was cold. The air was cold, for that matter, since his jacket was still upstairs, but Tony hardly felt it at all. There was nothing but the chasm of betrayal, opening up beneath him, washing everything else away.

“You made me _believe_ you,” Tony shouted up into Steve’s face, shoving roughly at his shoulders. “Why did you have to do that?”

Tony felt very much as if someone had punched him in the chest. He couldn’t get air in or out of his lungs, and now that the tears were flowing, he couldn’t see, either. A sob tore through him, and for a moment he felt his legs buckle, thought he was going to hit the ground.

“Tony—”

“You made me believe you loved me,” Tony wailed, covering his face with his hand, “but you _don’t_ , you fucking don’t, Steve.”

There were people talking around him, but his glasses were still upstairs, and he was crying too hard to see, or process anything, anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“I’m so _fucking stupid_ ,” Tony cried, wiping at his face, trying to breathe.

“No, Tony, I didn’t—”

“If you loved me, I’d have met Peter,” Tony sobbed. “I knew that, _I knew it_ , but I believed you _anyway_ , because I’m pathetic.”

From miles away, Tony heard Steve’s protests, something about love, and a mistake, and confusion, but all he could focus on was the painful truth currently ripping his heart in half. “You just carried me outside like you were taking out the _garbage_ , rather than run the risk of Peter seeing me! That’s not love, that’s _shame_!”

Tony wiped his sleeve across his face while moaning softly, then staggered toward his car, wrapping his arms tightly around himself in an attempt to stop shaking. There were hands grasping at him, but Tony shrugged off the touch, picking up his pace, focused on the idea of _getting out of there_ , because he was Tony Stark, and he was on a public street, with his broken heart right out there in the open, so everyone could have a good laugh at his expense.

“Tony, please, that’s not true, that’s _not_ how I feel,” Steve shouted, and it wasn’t until he spun around to shout, “Go fuck yourself,” into Steve’s panicked face that Tony realized they were no longer alone. Bucky and Clint each had a hold on Steve, which was good, because it meant that Tony could get out of there.

He only made it another few steps before Natasha was there, and taking hold of him. Bucky was barking orders, and Steve was calling Tony’s name, but thankfully that seemed very far away as soon as the door of the shop closed behind them, the bell ringing cheerfully, as Tony sucked in a ragged lungful of air, and allowed Natasha to walk him back to the bathroom.

Tony’s hands shook, his entire body shook, as Natasha guided him through the motions of splashing cold water on his face. A towel was pressed into his hands, and Tony scrubbed it across his face, still shaking, still unable to process.

“Come on, baby,” Natasha said softly. “Let me look at you.”

Somehow, Tony managed to survive Natasha cupping his face in her hands, and the sad, sympathetic look in her eyes. “Are you hurt?” she asked, stroking his cheek. Tony hiccuped, and shook his head. The only place it hurt was in his chest, where his heart used to be.

Natasha wrapped an arm around his waist, and steered Tony into the office, closing the door behind them before leading him to the couch. He fell into the cushions, body rocking against Natasha’s, but rather than put more space between them, she pulled him in close, tucked his head under her chin, stroked his back.

“He made me believe he loved me,” Tony said softly, sounding lost even to his own ears as he squeezed his eyes shut.

It was hard to say how long they sat together, Natasha petting his hair, and whispering soothing nothings to him, as Tony let the misery wash over him, until he was calm again. Everything was still there, down beneath the surface, waiting for him, but at the moment he was too exhausted to do much more than hold onto Natasha, and wonder how everything had gone so wrong, so very quickly. He’d fallen asleep in Steve’s arms, feeling like he mattered, and now…

The silence was interrupted by the ringing of the bell over the front door, prompting Natasha to straighten up. Tony’s heart was racing, and he was shaking his head, even as he wiped at his face to make sure there weren’t tears left behind. Tony assumed enough time had passed for the Parkers to come and go, so it was probably Clint or Bucky dropping off the rest of his shit, so he could leave.

“Hold on,” Natasha said, pressing a kiss to his forehead before getting up to investigate.

The door closed behind her, and Tony stared at the various framed photos in Steve’s office, trying to remind himself that the night before he’d sat in the same room, while Steve claimed to love him. And somehow he’d missed it, but with nothing to do but stare, Tony’s eyes were immediately drawn to something new hanging up over by Steve’s desk. Sniffling, he got to his feet, and stared in confusion; it was the drawing of his artificial heart, the one he’d done the first night they’d met each other, only now it was framed, and hung beside a photo of Peter.

There was a noise behind him, and Tony spun on his heels, feeling like he’d been caught doing something wrong, even though he hadn’t been. He expected to see Natasha, but directly behind her was Steve, wearing a look unlike anything Tony had ever seen before.

Immediately, Tony felt the tears building up behind his eyes, and opened his mouth, planning on once again suggesting Steve go fuck himself, but Natasha’s sharp look and head shake brought him up short. A moment later, he understood why.

“What’s the _surprise_?”

Tony was suddenly and painfully aware of how awful he must look, and struggled to get his expression under control, heart racing for entirely different reasons as Natasha stepped aside, so Steve could enter the office.

“I want you to meet someone special,” Steve was saying, but Tony could hardly hear him over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. “Peter, this is Tony.”

And there was Peter, holding his father’s hand, eyes slowly going round as saucers as he turned to face Tony. Somehow, Tony found a smile, and shoved it onto his face, suddenly convinced he must be dreaming. There was no other possible explanation for the surreality he found himself presented with.

“It’s _Tony_?” Peter squealed, yanking hard on his father’s hand with obvious excitement.

“Yeah, it’s really him,” Steve agreed, his mouth wobbling as he looked to Tony. “Want to go say hi?”

Rather than answering, Peter barreled across the room excitedly, and would have hurled himself at Tony’s legs, had Tony not instinctively dropped down into a crouch. As a result, he found himself with his arms full of an excited five year old, tiny arms wrapping around his neck, and squeezing almost too tightly.

Struggling to hold back the tears threatening to drown him alive, Tony returned the hug, squeezing his eyes shut, even as Peter babbled excitedly. “I waited and _waited_ ,” he said, beginning to bounce in Tony’s arms. “Are you spending the day?” Peter asked, before spinning, and jumping up and down, crying, “Daddy, can Tony stay? I have to show him _everything_!”

“Tony can stay as long as he likes,” Steve answered, eyes meeting Tony’s imploringly.

Credit where it was due, it was one hell of a tactical move. Peter’s wide, hopeful eyes were now focused on Tony, which meant he didn’t really have a choice, did he? Still feeling as if he was in a dream, Tony let Peter take him by the hand, and lead him out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'll just... be over here... hiding in this bunker. *cough* Oh, look, this is part of a series now, and part 2 is Clint & Bucky being in love!
> 
> Well, look, Tony met Peter! That's good, right? *shifty eyes* If it makes you feel any better, that particular scene has been sitting in my notes almost from the first chapter of the story, waiting for me, hanging over my head. Ugh, but, next week we have Steve's POV, and realize what he is terrified of and fully expects to happen if/when people find out how Not Okay he is.
> 
> I love you all. Have I mentioned that? Really, I was worried about posting this story, considering how heavy it gets at times, and how Not Okay Steve is, and you're all such amazing readers and commenters and I'm so glad we're in this mess together.
> 
> Ch.18 won't be easy, but it's the dawning of a healthier era for Steve. Expect some actual moments of good feels (and Tony & Peter together!) in Ch19.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you open your eyes, and discover your entire world has fallen to pieces, without any understanding of how, or why this has happened. And then... you realize your only option is to react.

“Go fuck yourself!” Tony shouted, his face a mask of pain. Blinded by tears, he stumbled away, Steve’s words of protest seemingly falling on deaf ears.

The world narrowed down to Tony’s shaking shoulders as he weaved away, Natasha stepping in to wrap a protective arm around his vulnerable form. While Steve tried to comprehend what was happening, Natasha steered Tony into the shop, closing the door firmly behind them with a note of finality.

Before he could attempt to follow them, Steve's back hit his front door with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs, momentum causing his head to rock back, and crack against the wood. Bucky had hold of his shoulders, effectively pinning Steve in place, as he shouted into his face.

“What did you do?” Bucky shook him, then pulled Steve forward to shove him against the door once more. “What the fuck _did you do_?”

“I don't know,” Steve stammered, blinking rapidly. That was the terrifying part—he _didn't_. There was no answer to give his brother, because Steve’s thoughts were bolting away from him like a spooked horse, and he couldn’t seem to take back the reins, get himself under control. “I don’t know, I don’t, I—”

Steve’s teeth snapped together with a loud _click_ ; Bucky was shaking him again, the motion aborted by Clint, who pulled them apart, planting one hand at the center of Steve's chest, while the other gripped Bucky's shoulder. “Knock it off,” Clint hissed, “you're not helping!”

Steve glanced between the two of them, his heart racing, thoughts spiraling back again and again, all roads leading to Tony, to the look on his face, to his anguished words. Steve needed to find him, to explain, except… how the hell was he supposed to explain something _he_ didn’t understand?

“I don't know what happened,” Steve blurted, looking to Bucky for answers, terrified by the expression his brother was wearing. “Buck, what do I do?” he asked, while in his mind, he saw Tony stumbling away, sobbing. “I _love_ him, I can't lose him, I _can't_ , Bucky, I'm not that strong, I can't go back to the way things were before I met him, not now, I love him too much,” and Steve knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop, everything was building up, and—

Bucky grabbed him, this time yanking Steve into a rough hug, holding on tight, and Steve wasn't sure which of them was shaking, only that it was happening. Steve’s arms came up, and around, until he found himself clinging to Bucky as if his life depended on it, desperate, and overwhelmed.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky swore, “then we’ll fix it. One step at a time, okay? Where's Peter?”

Steve stiffened. “I don't know,” he said for what felt like the thousandth time. Now he was almost hyperventilating, because Peter was missing! “Bucky, I have to find—”

“Okay, calm down,” Bucky interrupted, and Steve realized he was holding onto fistfuls of Bucky’s jacket. “We dropped him off with the Parkers last night before picking up dinner, so I'm guessing he's still there.”

Steve sagged in relief, letting the door support some of his weight while his legs shook. “Right. Right, they usually drop him off at eleven.”

“Clint?”

“On it.”

Steve didn’t have a chance to ask what it was that Clint was on, since Bucky was dragging him inside, ignoring Steve’s protests.

“You don’t want ‘em seeing you like this,” Bucky explained, his voice having gone all calm. “Not them, not Peter. Let’s pop back upstairs real quick, so you can regroup.”

“Yeah, okay.”

As if moving in a dream, Steve allowed Bucky to herd him up the stairs, eventually finding himself led over to the couch. Dazed, Steve sat down, and stared at his coffee table. Tony’s glasses and phone were there, resting atop one of Peter’s coloring books. Steve struggled to make sense of the juxtaposition.

“There’s something wrong with me, Buck.”

It took a moment for Steve to realize he’d said the words out loud, Bucky’s sharp inhalation cluing him in as to what had happened. But, really, what was the point in trying to take the words back? Steve had more or less demonstrated for anyone within throwing distance how monumentally fucked up his head was.

Hiding wasn’t an option any longer.

Panic took him by the throat, every last one of Steve’s fears flooding his mind, the awful, shrieking demands for attention leaving him immobilized. It was too much, much too much, unprocessable, and so Steve clung to the one truth that he felt summed everything up rather effectively.

He had _failed_.

The couch shifted beneath him as Bucky sat down. Cold fingers curled around Steve’s jaw, turning his head, until he saw his brother’s face. “I know, Stevie,” Bucky said, “but we’re gonna get you help now, okay? Admitting something’s wrong ain’t easy, but you can’t exactly change anything until you do, right?”

Bucky shifted then, and pulled out his phone, frowning down at it, before glancing back up at Steve. “Right. The Parkers just left. Clint’s got Peter downstairs. How about...”

The words seemed to drift away from Steve—they were there, but too distant to focus on. Steve leaned forward, and picked up Tony’s glasses, cradling them in his hands. They felt heavier than they should, but then again, so did everything else, as if someone or some _thing_ was dragging him down, down, _down_.

“I can’t let Tony leave,” Steve said, mostly to himself. He focused on breathing in. Breathing out. Swallowed. “I won’t ever see him again.”

“I know it feels that way, but that’s only cause—”

“You don’t understand,” Steve insisted, “he’ll _leave_. He thinks… I heard what he said. He needs to know the truth. I can’t let him leave without… With...”

Because Rhodes had warned him, hadn’t he? Steve hadn’t quite understood at the time, even though the idea of it had terrified him. If Tony left, he wouldn’t just be heading back to his penthouse to try to put the pieces of himself back together again. Tony would _leave_ , get on a plane, head to the West Coast, or anywhere that wasn’t New York, and there was no telling when, or _if_ , he’d come back. Tony wasn’t going to take Steve’s calls, wouldn’t give him an opportunity to explain, because as far as he was concerned, Steve had just shown his true colors. Just like those who came before him, he’d taken Tony’s trust, and _shredded_ it.

“Whoa, hold up, where are you going?”

Steve sidestepped around his brother. “Peter’s downstairs, right? Well, so’s Tony.”

“Believe me, the last thing Tony’s gonna do right now is try to rub elbows with Peter,” Bucky swore. “Natasha’s with him, anyway.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” The steady sound of Steve’s boots on the stairs was loud in the hallway. “This might be Peter’s last chance to meet Tony.”

Bucky was right behind him, voice raised as he offered his opinion on Steve’s plan, but Steve wasn’t listening, and if he stopped long enough to let his thoughts clear, and catch up with him, he was going to start screaming, and might never stop.

“Daddy!”

Peter grinned up at him, letting go of Clint’s hand so he could run over to Steve. As he’d done countless times before, Steve swept his son up and into his arms, and held on tight. There was no telling how many more opportunities he would have to do this, and so Steve breathed in the scent of Peter, tried to memorize the weight of him, the brilliance of his smile upon seeing his father.

“Hi, Petey,” Steve sighed, squeezing his eyes shut, so he didn’t have to see the look on Clint’s face. “Did you have a good time with your aunt and uncle?”

“We saw ducks,” Peter gushed, the innocent excitement in his voice breaking Steve’s heart. “I threw bread, and hit a duck and felt _bad_ , but he was okay. His friend ate the bread, then they _all_ wanted bread.”

“That sounds like fun,” Steve said, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It was tough to ignore Bucky and Clint hovering nearby, watching him as if he might explode at any moment. “Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you in the shop.”

Peter’s eyes went wide with excitement, even as Steve put him back down, and took his hand. “Is it a dog?”

Despite everything, Steve laughed, the sound all but torn from his chest. “Nope, it’s not a dog.”

Bucky grabbed hold of his arm, and glared at him. “You’re seriously gonna do this _now_ ,” he asked, thankfully switching to French, and keeping the anger out of his voice. It was right there in his eyes, though. “Cause I’m thinking it’s a _bad_ idea, Stevie, real bad. You’re not exactly thinking this through.”

“I have to _try_.” Carefully, Steve removed Bucky’s hand from his arm, and headed for the shop.

“Uh, is the surprise what I _think_ the surprise is?” Clint asked, shuffling along beside Steve. “Because this is definitely going to surprise the surprise, and, like, not even in a good way, since I’m pretty sure the surprise is dealing with a lot of… stuff? At the moment? Cap?”

Trusting Bucky and Clint would resist the urge to physically drag him back upstairs while Peter was there, Steve kept going, marching into the shop, his heart hammering fitfully, stomach churning.

“What sort of surprise?” Peter asked.

Up ahead, the door to the office opened enough for Natasha to slip out, her expression placid, despite the fire in her eyes. “Where the—” Thankfully, she cut herself short upon seeing Peter. “Steve. What are you doing?” she asked sweetly.

“Daddy has a surprise for me,” Peter faux whispered, grinning up at Natasha. “But it's not a doggy.”

“A surprise, hmm. How mysterious.” Natasha stroked a hand over Peter’s hair, tousling it, but her eyes were focused on Steve, and full of rage. “This is a mistake,” Natasha informed him, her French a low growl. “Take Peter back upstairs.”

“I'm sorry. I can't. I have to try.”

When Steve went to walk around her, Natasha stepped in his way, blocking the door. “He's a mess, thanks to you,” she hissed. “I don't know how he'll react if you walk in there right now.”

Steve continued on, ignoring her.

“Captain!” Natasha snapped, bringing Steve to a standstill. “It isn't fair to either of them, meeting this way. Your son isn’t stupid, he’s bound to notice how upset Tony is.”

Steve clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together, but his voice was soft when he answered her criticisms. “I know this isn’t fair, or ideal, or anything other than crazy, but I'm doing it anyway.” Staring her down was difficult, but Steve managed to hold her gaze, despite the ire in her eyes. “Don't worry, you can always visit me in the nuthouse and say ‘I told you so’ all you want when this is over.”

Natasha's eyes widened, but she moved, not out of the way, but toward the office, looking over her shoulder before shaking her head in disappointment, and opening the door.

Seeing Tony was like a punch to the chest. Distantly, Peter asked about his surprise, tugging on Steve's hand, but the world had narrowed down to Tony, and the devastation writ into every last inch of him. Tony's eyes were two red rimmed, gutted candles, his face pale, hair still matted on one side from where it had rested against Steve's pillow. He'd spun on his heels, was about to start shouting, when he went very, very still, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I want you to meet someone special,” Steve heard himself saying as if from far away. “Peter, this is Tony.”

As if performing a magic trick, Tony summoned a smile, managed to keep it on his face, and something about that was _awful_ , was like being thrown into icy water. How was it he kept managing to hurt this remarkable man, when all he wanted was to _protect_ Tony, to find some way to make up for the way the world had misused him? Standing there, with Peter tugging on his hand, excited beyond all measure to finally meet Tony, Steve was left with the uncomfortable realization that he was the biggest monster of them all.

“Yeah, it’s really him,” Steve answered his son on autopilot. It was difficult getting the words out past the lump in his throat. “Want to go say hi?”

Tiny fingers slipped free of his grasp as Peter went running, excitement getting the best of him. And as bad as everything that morning had been, the worst was yet to come, because as Tony dropped down into a crouch, and wrapped Peter up safe in his arms, Steve could only think how _right_ it seemed, seeing them together like that. Peter _belonged_ there, with Tony, because… because they were all supposed to have been a family. Only Steve had destroyed that, hadn't he? The magnitude of his failure threatened to take Steve’s legs out from under him; his awful, broken mind, his fears, and his selfishness had robbed Peter of his chance to have two loving parents again.

Tony had his eyes squeezed shut, a hand cradling the back of Peter’s head, while Steve’s son babbled happily, excited beyond measure to finally be meeting his hero.

“Daddy, can Tony stay? I have to show him _everything_!”

Getting his mouth to work was difficult, and when he spoke, Steve recognized that he sounded very much unlike himself. “Tony can stay as long as he likes.”

Steve felt as if time slowed down to a crawl, would have believed it had frozen entirely, if not for the steady chaos that was the beating of his heart. Tony’s smile was a rictus, until he shifted his eyes away from Steve, and focused on Peter, allowing his hand to be taken. Steve found himself trembling, mostly because Tony was refusing to look at him, even as he allowed Peter to lead him toward the door.

“Where are your shoes?” Peter asked, sending Steve’s stomach plummeting down toward his own feet.

“That’s a good question. I think they’re hiding upstairs with my glasses. Maybe you can help me find them.”

“Shoes go under the bench by the door,” Peter explained innocently, swinging his and Tony’s hands as they walked. “We can look there!”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

Peter’s questions came one after another, and somehow Tony found the strength to answer, found some way to keep the smile on his face, while Steve trudged behind them, feeling as if he was watching it all take place in a movie. The sensation of being disconnected from his surroundings, from his own body, was wearing on him, so that every step was an effort. He’d had dreams like this, where no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move fast enough, was left battling for every inch of progress, while the world seemingly exploded in a hail of bullets around him.

Steve wasn’t stupid enough to be hopeful. He knew by the time the sun set, Tony would no longer be a part of his life. All he wanted was a chance to make Tony understand that he wasn’t ashamed of him, and never had been. That—even when things were at their worst—the time they’d had together was without a doubt the happiest Steve could recall ever being. He couldn’t stomach Tony being left to believe Steve was ashamed of him, or that he wasn’t loved. It was all backwards. Tony had come into his life, and given him a chance to be a _person_ ; it wasn’t Tony’s fault that Steve wasn’t up to the challenge.

Maybe, if he was really lucky, Tony would still want the opportunity to get to know Peter. The Parkers were kind, loving people. Once they took over Peter’s legal guardianship, there was a chance they’d be willing to allow Tony to serve as a mentor of sorts. This was assuming they didn’t opt to cut Peter off entirely from his previous life, of course.

Grief clutched Steve’s heart, twisting it so violently that he stumbled, legs finally going out from under him. Natasha was there in an instant, one of her slender, surprisingly strong arms sliding around Steve’s waist, supporting him, even though he didn’t deserve it.

“Do you have appointments scheduled for today?” she asked softly.

Steve kept his eyes facing front, almost scared to blink. It felt a lot like Tony and Peter were slowly walking out of his life, and the desire to hold onto them for as long as possible was all consuming. “I don’t know. I couldn’t even tell you what _day_ it is right now, Natasha.”

“Saturday,” she answered, tone sympathetic. “April thirtieth.”

Bucky and Clint were ahead of him, doing their best to contribute to Tony’s conversation with Peter, to keep his exceptionally astute son from noticing how devastated Tony currently was, or from remembering that his father was still there, staggering behind him like a zombie, struggling to keep up.

“It’s almost Tony’s birthday,” Steve said to no one at all.

Ahead of him, Tony’s head jerked sharply, not enough to look over his shoulder, but enough for Steve to know he’d been overheard. Fresh waves of shame washed over him; it had been almost a year since they’d met each other. So many wasted days, and hours, and now it had all caught up with him, his time running out in the worst possible way.

“Here, I got him.” Bucky said, stepping in close on Steve's left, ready to take over for Natasha. “Can you call Sam?”

Even though it was a good idea, Steve wanted to voice his protest, ask if they could wait a few hours at least. Instead, Steve shifted his weight toward Bucky, and allowed himself to be led inside, not letting go until it was time to climb the stairs.

By the time he made it up and into the apartment, Clint was standing near the door, watching for him in case he needed assistance, while Tony helped Peter out of his jacket. There was something surreal about it all, as if Steve wasn’t actually there, but had been transported _A Christmas Carol_ style to be shown scenes from the life he was _meant_ to have. Peter beamed up at Tony as the jacket was hung in the closet, then took his hand again, chattering excitedly about robots, the two of them passing Steve without sparing a glance in his direction, reinforcing the strange, disconnected sensation.

“Safety first,” Tony said, his smile losing quite a bit of its edge as he allowed Peter to drag him along. “Sciencing without shoes is risky business. There should be a pair of glasses around here somewhere, too.”

Peter made an excited noise, and dashed for the table, scooping up Tony’s glasses. “Found ‘em!”

Behind him, the door closed, and then Bucky was there with an arm around Steve’s shoulders, breaking the spell. Steve remained rooted to the spot, captivated by the sight of Tony crouching down, and allowing Peter to slide his glasses onto his face for him, blinking and gasping theatrically once they were in place.

“Peter, is that you?” Tony teased, lifting the glasses up and down several times. “I could have sworn you had a beard a minute ago.”

Peter giggled. “ _Tony_. I can’t have a beard, I’m too little.”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I had a beard when I was your size,” Tony insisted. “Of course, I’m not that much bigger than you now. You’re what—sixty inches, give or take?”

“Thirty-eight,” Peter answered, smile still firmly in place. “We got measured at school.”

Tony stood up, and made a show of measuring their height differential with his hands. “Hmm, that can’t be right. We better take some new measurements.”

Bucky took a step, propelling Steve into motion. “They’re beautiful together,” Steve said, mostly to himself, “aren’t they?”

For a fleeting moment, Tony’s eyes met Steve’s own, and the coldness he found there was like a knife being slipped between his ribs to pierce his heart. The world trembled and resolved through a veil of tears, and with a terrible sense of finality, Steve lowered his eyes, and allowed Bucky to lead him away.

It wasn’t until he realized his brother was taking them to the bedroom that Steve protested, digging in his heels. “Can we stay out here?” he asked as quietly as possible. “I don’t have much time left, and I want to be able to see them.”

“What’re you talkin' like that for?” Bucky’s brows were furrowed, and he was searching Steve’s face for answers, clearly not pleased with what he was seeing. “You got your whole life ahead of you, Stevie.”

Steve was too exhausted to argue, so he was grateful when Bucky led him over to a chair in the kitchen, and sat him down there. Immediately, he let his elbows rest on the table, and tipped forward, head in hands, trying to focus on simple things, like breathing, and the beating of his heart.

“Okay, I’ll look for my shoes, while you take care of that,” Tony said, heading for the bedroom.

More likely than not, once he was fully dressed, Tony would spare a bit of time to play with Peter, but then find an excuse to leave without hurting the little boy’s feelings. Even in the midst of heartbreak, Tony would find the strength to look out for the people important to him. Unlike Steve.

“Sam is on his way,” Bucky said, pulling up a chair. “Natasha has everything under control downstairs. Me an’ Clint are gonna stay here with you, okay?”

Steve swallowed. “Okay.”

“Maybe Petey should stay with the dads tonight,” Bucky continued, setting his phone on the table in front of him. “You got a lot you’re dealing with right now. Want me to set that up?”

Steve didn’t answer, mostly because Tony had walked back into the room, his hair once again strategically messy, rather than matted on one side, shoes on, clothes straightened out. Steve watched him peripherally, heart thumping wildly, worried Tony would simply continue on for the front door, and disappear from his life. It was what he deserved, but if that had been Tony’s intention, he never followed through. Peter came rushing into the room wearing his lab coat, and carrying a box that had been part of his Christmas present.

“Someone looks ready for science,” Tony announced, clapping his hands. That he managed to sound genuinely cheerful was beyond impressive. “What’re we working on?”

“Robot!” Peter cheered, holding the package above his head as he ran over to Tony. They headed for the coffee table, Tony plopping down to sit on the floor beside Peter. “Daddy said I should save it to build with you.”

For some reason, this prompted Tony to look Steve’s way once again, his mouth twisted, and brow furrowed. “Did he, now?”

“Uh huh.” Peter was carefully opening his kit, and setting the pieces out on the table, grouping like with like, his adorable face scrunched up in concentration. “I like Uncle Bug’s new arm.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony’s voice was deceptively casual. “Me too, especially that little cartoon of your Uncle Hawky.”

Steve’s breath caught somewhere in his chest, which gave him time to cover his mouth, muffle the distressed noise when it finally emerged. It didn’t escape Steve’s notice that Clint had repositioned himself so Peter wouldn’t be able to see him, which was both good and bad.

“I know you don’t want him seeing you like this,” Bucky whispered, stroking a hand over the back of Steve’s head. “Lemme take you in the other room. Clint can keep everything under control out here.”

“I… I need to talk to Tony before he leaves.” Wrapping his mind around the French was unexpectedly difficult. “I know he won’t forgive me, but I have to talk to him anyway.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, then got Clint’s attention, the two exchanging a flurry of agitated signing, all of it too fast for Steve to follow, before Clint let his head loll back on his shoulders as if in defeat before straightening, and giving a thumbs up. Then there were hands beneath his arms, and Bucky was lifting Steve up and out of his seat, as if he was a child.

“Alright, one foot in front of the other, here we go.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve squared his shoulders, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can do it on my own,” he said after a moment.

Peter had been distracted by Tony up until now, but Steve didn’t want to risk him catching on to the precarious state his father was currently in. Things were going to be tough enough later on; he deserved every possible moment of happiness he had left. And so, even though he felt like he was moving underwater, Steve put one foot in front of the other the way Bucky had suggested, and headed into the bedroom.

Rather than sitting on the bed, Steve lowered himself to the floor, and leaned back against the bedframe, knees up, so he could hug them. His sheets would still smell faintly of Tony, and after everything that had happened, Steve didn’t feel particularly worthy of the proximity.

Not one to be outdone, Bucky settled in beside him, arm around Steve’s shoulders. “You don’t gotta be strong for _me_ , Steve,” he said after a moment. “Let me actually be the big brother for a change.”

What started out as a startled laugh soon degraded into ragged sobbing, as Steve gave up what little control he had left, and wept in his brother’s arms. Bucky held on tight, cheek resting atop Steve’s head, as he rocked him, and kept up a steady stream of soothing dialogue.

“That’s good, Stevie, real good,” Bucky said, voice trembling. “Let it out. You don’t gotta carry all that weight on your own.”

The words struck a chord deep inside, and the agony of his current situation somehow doubled, the steady sobbing leaving him feeling like he was that frail, asthmatic version of himself once again. Steve had no idea how long they sat like that, only that he felt raw, his face stinging from the steady stream of tears, his chest aching from trying to keep the noise to a minimum. The apartment wasn’t that large, and sound carried; he didn’t want to scare Peter.

Eventually, he ran out of tears, sobs devolving into hiccups, and the odd, piteous moan, while behind his closed eyes, all he could see was a terrible amalgamation of Bucky waking up in the hospital after losing his arm, and Tony screaming in his face before staggering barefoot toward his car. Rather than opening them again, Steve let it play out, over and over on loop, until he was numbed by his grief.

He was still slumped against Bucky’s chest when the door opened, and Sam slipped inside, bringing with him a brief burst of sound—Peter and Tony laughing together—before the door closed again. Steve’s heart lurched violently in his chest at the sound, a shudder running through his body.

“I’ve ruined everything,” Steve said, hardly recognizing his own voice. “I should be out there, with them, but I… I destroyed whatever chance I had with Tony.”

“I’m sure a lot of things feel impossible at the moment,” Sam said softly. “And that’s okay, because it won’t always be that way. We’re all going to work together, and make sure you get the help you need, Steve.”

Steve took a deep, controlled breath, then exhaled slowly, loosening his grip on Bucky. “I need to see Tony.”

“Maybe save the heart to heart for another day,” Sam suggested, even as Steve shook his head. “Tony is dealing with—”

“Please,” Steve said, focusing on Bucky. “Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Bucky held his gaze, expression darkening, before he leaned forward to press a kiss against Steve’s forehead. “I’ll try.”

Feeling like his limbs were far too heavy, Steve shifted, making room for Bucky to climb back to his feet, ignoring the quiet conversation unfolding between him and Sam. He pulled at the sleeve of his t-shirt, using the fabric to wipe his face dry, then let his head tip back to rest against the edge of the bed while he waited.

“How about some company down there?” Sam offered, walking over to take up Bucky’s place.

“I’d like to do this on my feet,” Steve answered, clearing his throat. Sam reached out a helping hand, which Steve gladly accepted, allowing himself to be pulled up, and into an embrace. “Thanks for coming, Sam. You’re a good friend.”

“Where else am I gonna be?” Sam answered easily, punctuating the remark with a squeeze. “You know I’ve got your back, and I’m not the only one.”

“I know,” Steve said after a moment, straightening his shoulders, and taking a step or two closer to the door in anticipation. “Maybe you shouldn’t, though.”

Sam was opening his mouth to respond when the doorknob twisted, the door opening a crack. “You’re in charge of Clint while I’m gone,” Tony was saying, and it was impressive, how one moment his voice was full of good cheer, and a smile was on his face, and the next it was all gone, leaving nothing but cold blankness in it’s wake.

Tony took five steps into the room, then folded his arms across his chest, eyes darting over to Sam, before resettling on Steve. “You know, I was going to complain about having an audience for this, but it’s actually kind of fitting.” Tony gestured toward Sam, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “What do you think, should we walk across the street to the diner for old time’s sake?”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. “Sam, give us a couple minutes?”

“It’s fine if he stays,” Tony said. “I’m probably not sticking around very long, anyway.” Even though he’d already known that was the case, hearing Tony say it was surprisingly painful. “So, let’s get this over with. You say sorry, I call you a manipulative bastard, and then what? Everything goes back to normal?”

“No,” Steve answered, digging deep. “It doesn’t matter how sorry I am, or how much I apologize. You’ll never trust me again, which is fair. I don’t deserve your trust.”

Tony blinked, momentarily showing his surprise before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Alright then, why am I in here?”

“You need to hear the truth. I have _never_ been ashamed of you, Tony, or of being with you,” Steve said, surprised by the level of conviction he managed to muster. “And I wasn’t lying about being in love with you, either. I was scared,” he said, needing to close his eyes for a moment as the word ‘together’ floated through his mind. “Mostly because I knew this day was coming.”

Tony’s jaw ticked to the side in irritation, but his voice was impassive when he spoke. “What day is that, _Carry Tony Outside Like He’s Trash_ Day?”

“No. The… the day you finally realized I’m crazy,” Steve answered. He’d never said ‘I’m crazy’ out loud to himself, but had thought as much countless times over the years since coming home. “No one should have to be in a relationship with someone as _fucked_ in the head as I am.”

Surprise momentarily won the battle against irritation, Tony’s expression darkening for different reasons. “Steve—”

But oddly enough, for maybe the first time in his entire life, Steve _wanted_ to talk about himself, and what was going on in his head.

“I don’t know what happened this morning,” Steve said, feeling like he was unstopping a dam somewhere inside of himself. “I keep trying to remember, but it’s all mixed up in my head. You’re not even there, Tony,” Steve tried to explain, pointing to his temple, “because for some reason I keep circling back to years before we met. We talked, and it was _good_ when we went to bed, right? I fell asleep and stayed that way for the first time in a week. And… and then I’m twenty-three again, and talking to this _infuriating_ grunt—Anderson—trying to get it through his thick skull that we need to wait for orders, and can’t just open fire on this local whose van broke down and was blocking the road, and Anderson’s rolling his eyes, and trying to get the last word, but then there’s a hole in the side of his head.” Steve shook his own head, rubbing at his temple, laughing despite how much he felt like crying. “I stood there and kept yelling at him even when he was on the ground, because it hadn’t clicked into place that he was dead.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve tugged up his shirt, and pointed to a section of his skin where delicate pink cherry blossoms were seemingly scattered in the wind. “For some reason, I thought there should have been more blood from the exit wound,” Steve explained, touching the side of his head as he let his shirt fall back into place. “I was standing there, yelling at a dead man, and thinking someone got the special effects all wrong, and that if it was one of those arthouse movies Peggy used to drag me to, it would have cut to a scene with flower petals in the breeze, or something _poetic_.”

The room seemed terribly quiet. “That’s how a crazy person thinks,” Steve added.

“You’re not crazy,” Sam interjected. “It might feel that way, Steve, but PTSD is a completely normal response to an _abnormal_ situation. Once you...”

Sam’s words drifted far away, felt somehow inapplicable. Steve only had eyes for Tony, who was openly staring. Steve was going to look in those brown eyes for as long as he had the privilege. Or the courage.

“Once the Parkers find out, they’ll _have_ to challenge my guardianship of Peter on grounds of competency. I’m supposed to be of sound mental and physical condition, which I’m not, and—” Steve took a sharp intake of air, the gravity of the situation solidifying anew. “I’m his dad. I was supposed to _protect_ him, and I failed. I failed Peter, and his grandfathers, and the Parkers, his uncles, and I failed _you_. Tony, you’re _perfect_ with him—I knew you would be—and I ruined that, I robbed Peter of having the father he deserves, because I was scared, and selfish; he’s been the only good thing in my life for so long now. I didn't know how to share him without feeling like I was losing him.”

“ _Steve_.” Tony had his eyes closed, the tips of his fingers slipped under his glasses so he could press against his eyelids, voice pained.

“I was trying to do it, though, I really was, Tony, because I wanted to believe I could have _both_ of you, a life for all of us together.” At some point during his speech, Steve had started crying again. “And now I've lost _both_ of you. I know I never deserved either of you to begin with, but I don't know how to… to let go. Peter’s just a little boy, he needs his daddy, I’m not ready to give him up yet, Tony,” he whimpered, surprised when Tony took a step closer, and then another, until Steve felt warm hands cupping his face.

“Hey,” Tony said, peering up into Steve’s eyes. “ _No one_ is taking Peter from you! That’s _not_ happening, full stop. You heard Sam, right? He’s a professional, and he says you’re not crazy.”

“I _am_ , though, you don’t understand—”

Tony’s thumbs swept across Steve’s cheeks, pushing aside tears. “Would you call your brother crazy? How ‘bout Nat? Or Clint?” Steve shook his head. “No? Well, okay then, Steve, there you go. They’ve all struggled with PTSD, too. They’re not crazy, so you’re not crazy either.”

Steve curled his hands around Tony’s wrists, careful not to hold on too tight. “I’ll wind up in one of those hospitals, doped to the gills. He won't even be able to visit me, I've seen those places, they're a nightmare.”

“No one is locking you up, but you’ll probably be prescribed antidepressants for a bit. I’ve been on them before,” Tony said, sounding far too calm. “They helped, and after some time in therapy, I didn’t have to take them anymore. You’d take antibiotics if you had an infection, right?” Tony waited for Steve to nod before he continued. “Same premise. They’ll help your body get your brain chemistry balanced out, while you and a therapist work on dealing with all that shit you're carrying around with you, so you can finally _move on_.”

Steve’s breathing hitched again, and he swallowed the sob before it slipped past his lips. “Like you'll move on from me.”

Tony held his gaze, and there was no mistaking the pain in his eyes.

“Peter is amazing,” Tony said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching in a smile, and Steve felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. “I can see how the thought of losing him would be terrifying.”

Tony took a deep breath, and let go of Steve's face in order to wrap his arms around himself and shrug. “I’m so unbelievably _furious_ with you, Steve,” he managed to spit out, his jaw clenched. “All that time I spent desperate to meet Peter—knowing I would be stuck on the outside looking in until it happened—trying my best to be patient, and understanding, and _that's_ how you introduce us?” Tony paused, then added, “Asshole,” rather vehemently.

Steve exhaled sharply. “I didn't think I'd have another chance for him to meet you,” he admitted. “I'm sorry.”

“Fuck your sorry,” Tony snapped. “He's bright, Steve, and super observant. I remember being his age. Adults always assumed shit went over my head, and yeah, maybe some of it did, but not that much. Enough for me to come to the conclusion that things were _my_ fault, or _my_ responsibility, when they weren't.”

Unable to help himself, Steve took a step toward the door, surprised when Tony stopped him with a hand against his chest. “He's fine. The poor kid was so excited to meet me that he hasn't noticed what's going on. Yet.”

Steve sighed his relief, and resisted the urge to cover Tony's hand with his own, and hold it hostage, keep it pressed there above his heart forever.

“He had a lot of questions for me, though.”

“Peter’s a big fan of questions,” Steve said hoarsely, watching Tony's mouth rather than his eyes, like a coward.

“Where are my shoes, why wasn't I wearing a jacket, or my glasses. If I could live in outer space or under the ocean, which would I choose, and why. Did I have a sleepover with his dad while he was at his aunt and uncle’s house,” Tony’s expression was guarded when Steve's eyes snapped up to finally meet his own. “According to Peter, dad says there are all kinds of families in the world. Some people have a mom and dad, some are adopted, some have two dads or two moms, or only one of either, or brothers and sisters.”

Steve nodded, not sure what point Tony was making, still distracted by the sleepover question.

“Peter also tells me that you explained the idea of boyfriends and girlfriends, but that he already knew all about that, because his friend Gwen’s mommy has lots of boyfriends.”

“Great,” Steve groaned, rubbing at his temples. Peter hadn’t mentioned that little gem during their talk earlier in the week.

“Apparently you and I are boyfriends the way Uncle Bug and Hawky are,” Tony continued, his voice breaking, “which means we _love_ each other, and so we'll be spending a lot of time together, like a family.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again, head swimming. “I'll find a way to explain it to him,” Steve promised, heart breaking all over again, “so Peter knows it's _my_ fault that won't be happening.”

Tony stared at him for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled, almost as if he was scared. “You told him I was your boyfriend,” Tony said slowly, “and that you loved me very much. When the hell did that happen?”

“Last week,” Steve admitted. “After dinner at my folks.”

Tony seemed genuinely baffled. “Why didn't you tell _me_?”

“I wanted to be able to tell you in person,” Steve explained. “And, I thought… I didn't know if telling Peter how I felt would… would violate reasonable restraint.” Tony closed his eyes again, chin ducking down as he shook his head. “Then last night, we… It didn't seem the right time to bring it up.”

“So, what, you just randomly decided to tell Peter about us after almost a year of knowing each other?” Tony asked.

Steve swallowed, brushed at a stray tear, and tried not to react to Tony's entirely justifiable anger. “You… You said you loved me,” Steve pointed out quietly, holding back the second half to that particular equation. Tony didn't want to hear the words from him under the best of circumstances. “In the middle of me proving I’m insane, you still… You _helped_ , and then said you loved me, even seeing me like _that_.” Steve cleared his throat. “I hoped, when it happened again, you wouldn't… wouldn't leave us, and so I thought… maybe it would be safe.”

He could keep apologizing, continue trying to explain, but Steve was convinced Tony didn’t want to hear any more, and so he closed his mouth, concentrated on breathing instead.

“I can’t keep living like this,” Tony said after a moment. He pressed his mouth into a thin line, then looked up at Steve, smiling wryly, his eyes bright. “Not knowing what to expect one minute to the next? It’s like the second I start to feel secure, you yank the rug out from under my feet, Steve. It sucks, and it isn’t fair.”

Steve nodded, not trusting his voice. Nothing Tony said was wrong, or unexpected, but that didn’t make it hurt any less to hear.

“I need to spend more time taking care of _myself_ ,” Tony continued, “not walking on eggshells around you, worrying about something I do or say triggering a flashback, or panic attack, or _worse_ , Steve. It’s only been a week, and I’m ready to tear my hair out.”

“I understand,” Steve all but whispered. It felt like his heart had been hollowed out. “It’s what I expected, really.”

“Remember what I said about going back into therapy? Yeah, well, there’s a bit more to it than that. Bucky gave me some leads on support groups for families of veterans suffering from PTSD,” Tony said. “It’d feel kind of weird being in group with your brother, so I’ll pick another location, or time, or whatever.” Tony took a deep breath, and exhaled raggedly. “Steve. Look at me. If Peter hadn’t told me what he told me, I wouldn’t be in a position to even entertain the idea of sticking around. You’re not the only one here with insecurities, and whether or not you remember the specifics of what happened, this morning was _a fucking nightmare_. I have never felt so _betrayed_ , and that’s saying a lot.”

Fresh waves of shame threatened to drown Steve, but he straightened under the weight of it all, and continued to hold Tony’s gaze.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to talk to Sam, so he can find the right person for you to work with. If they prescribe drugs, take the drugs. They want you there twice a day, every day, with group sessions in the mornings? You go. You will open your mouth, and be brutally honest while working with the professionals. I’m not gonna lie—it’ll be hard work, and it’ll suck, probably for a while—but after some time has passed, you might be surprised by how different everything feels. I know it sounds impossible right now, but you _can_ and will get better, Steve.”

Unable to think of a better response, Steve nodded.

“While that’s happening, you’re going to let the people who love you help. Bucky, Clint, Natasha, Sam, your dads; they’ve _all_ served. I’m not saying you need to sit around in a circle and talk about how much war sucks, but they’re intimately aware of what you’re dealing with at the moment. You don’t have to do this alone. Fuck, you shouldn’t have ever tried. Even if you only look at what they’ve accomplished as a way to remind yourself you’re _not_ crazy, and change is possible, that’s still something. Right?”

“Right.”

“No one is locking you up, and Peter isn’t going anywhere. You might need some more help around the house with him, though, while you’re focusing on getting better, because there will be days when all you want to do is sleep.” Tony took a deep breath. “So, maybe I can help a little with that, if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I’m not expecting to jump right into playing the role of parent, but keeping me and Peter separate while you juggle two lives? That’s _done_ , Steve, no wiggle room on that front. I’m either all the way in, or I’m out. And while I still want you to talk to me, I cannot and will not do this if the responsibility for your mental health rests solely on _my_ shoulders. I’m not qualified for that shit. So if you decide to bail on treatment before they think you’re ready, don’t expect me to stick around for the fallout.”

Steve shook his head again, this time in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Tony exhaled raggedly, “you can’t bottle things up, and put on a brave front for me, and call that _together_.” Tony shrugged. “I love you, Steve, but I’m sick of surprises, and explosions, and our occasionally awful attempts at communicating biting us on the ass. I can’t be the only emotionally mature person in the relationship.”

Breathing was incredibly difficult, and Steve felt as if his ears were ringing. “Is…is _together_ still an option?” he managed to ask, unable to mask his incredulity.

“If you’re willing to abide by the new terms and conditions, yes.”

Considering he found himself on his knees, Steve had to assume his legs had given out from under him. Disbelief, relief, hope—everything hit him hard, while in his mind, another Steve smashed his fists against the glass walls of his torture chamber repeatedly, and with enough force to shatter the glass, and send him tumbling out of his self-imposed prison.

As Steve struggled to suck air into his lungs, Tony was there, in Steve’s arms, where he belonged, and all Steve could do was hold on for dear life, and _shake_.

“Yes,” he chanted over and over, along with, “thank you, Tony,” and, “I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you, not ever,” and, “I love you so much,” and countless other words and phrases and confessions that probably didn’t make nearly as much sense as they should have.

Tony held him through it all, rocking Steve much as Bucky had done. There was no shame, no sense of weakness, or failure. Because, miraculously, it turned out Steve hadn’t lost the two most important people in his life after all. And if it meant keeping Peter and Tony, Steve would do whatever it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, people! I was BLOWN AWAY by your comments on the last chapter. Not only how many of you were moved to scream with me, but the caliber of your responses, as well. Everyone is feeling Tony's pain, but there was a heartening amount of empathy for Steve, as well, which really made my heart sing. Any of you out there who are also writers know how addicting comments can be, and how motivating they are. I had to take a break part way through replying in order to start writing again, because the muse was on fire _Damn_ , I haz the best readers up in here. I cannot thank you enough.
> 
> Meanwhile... did you see [the Ch.17 art from Kamaete!?!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5330468/chapters/13833433) An amazing representation, people, stare at this and weep! And nikistillbelieveinheroes.tumblr.com made this [awesome edit](http://nikistillbelieveinheroes.tumblr.com/post/139728411464/finely-honed-the-last-chapter-of-dithom-make-me) for the story!
> 
> Anyway, how we all doing? Steve survived hitting bottom, everything is out in the open, and he's going to get help! He's not the only one, since Tony will also be getting help. I hope some of you have been able to forgive Steve, or at least understand a bit better what was going on with him at the end of Ch.17. We certainly haven't seen the end of feels in this fic—there will be adjusting happening all around, and each of these men have unresolved shit from their childhoods—but they're really in this thing together from here on out. Hey, and finally getting to write Tony + Peter has been so satisfying! Expect more moments with those two adorable nerds. :D
> 
> Bonus thanks to all of you also sharing love over on the Bucky x Clint side story, where they show how to get a relationship done. ;D See you next Monday!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony begins to open himself to the idea of family. Steve continues to open his mouth. Peter + Tony = Best Friends Forever. Time for a new take on together.

“Hm?”

“Sorry,” Steve whispered, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

After a minor struggle, Tony managed to crack an eye open. It was mostly dark, but even without his glasses he could make out the sheepish expression Steve was wearing. He was hunched awkwardly, sketch pad balanced on one knee, and a pencil in hand, his head pushing against the top of the tent they were currently occupying.

“Whassup?”

Tony shifted, fully intending to sit up, but then stopped when Peter made a sleepy noise of protest. The five-year-old had apparently sprawled himself mostly on top of Tony starfish style during the night. Moving slowly, Tony extracted his arm enough to wrap it around the little boy properly, the smile taking over Tony’s face without him having a say in the matter.

“Just capturing the moment,” Steve whispered.

Moving carefully, Steve somehow managed to settle himself back into the empty spot beside Tony without bringing the whole tent down on them, or waking Peter in the process, which was impressive, given his size. Once settled in, he tucked away the sketchbook, and wrapped himself around Tony, one of his large hands settling into place against the middle of Peter’s back.

“Sleep okay?” Tony’s eyes were already drooping, his momentary concern for Steve eased away by finding all was well, and the warmth of the bodies now bracketing his own.

Steve made a noncommittal noise as he wiggled closer, shifting until he could drag his lips against the curve of Tony’s jaw, pressing a kiss below his ear before settling back down. “Not great, but better than the night before.”

Tony turned his head as best he could in order to return the kiss on whatever bit of Steve he could reach, stupidly pleased by the answer. He had yet to have his inquiries into Steve’s general state of affairs answered by the previously typical—and exceptionally frustrating—response of _fine_.

Steve's arm was heavy, his breathing slow and even, the warm puffs of air skating across whatever bits of Tony’s skin not covered by his t-shirt. It was a nice counterpoint to the growing stiffness in Tony's back from a night spent sleeping on the living room floor. Unable to help himself, he stretched as best he could under the weight of his human blankets, a squeak of discomfort escaping.

“Next time, how about we set the tent up on top of the bed,” Tony suggested softly.

Steve's grip on him tightened. “I'm sorry.”

Tony twisted an arm up so he could drag his fingers through Steve's hair. “S’fine, I'm just a bit stiff. Some of us are old men, you know.”

“Shut up, you're not old,” Steve protested. It was quiet for a couple minutes, but then Steve sighed. “If Peter’s around, it keeps the worst of the nightmares at bay. I used to crash on his floor, sneak in and out without him realizing a couple nights a week. At least that way I could get a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.”

Tony processed this information, continuing to pet Steve's hair while he did so. Steve had been doing his best to prove he'd taken Tony's words to heart, which meant these days he tended to answer even seemingly innocent questions with occasionally heart breaking honesty. It was taking getting used to, but since Tony was the one who had insisted Steve stop bottling things up, it would have been a bit of a dick move to tell him to dial it down a notch. It wasn’t Steve’s fault that more than half the shit that came out of his mouth made Tony want to wrap him up in a blanket, and hide him from the world.

“Maybe it was a subconscious thing? You'd feel him there and not want to freak the kid out, so your brain cut you some slack.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I guess I'm used to the floor. Sorry about that.”

Unfortunately, Tony knew all about insomnia. They’d been on good terms after the death of his parents, and reunited with a vengeance while everything was happening with his heart, and Stane. Tony had hardly slept at all, every moment divided between his workshop, Pepper, and lawyers. Somehow, Tony had managed to continue functioning, but it’d been rough. Steve had been doing it for _years_ , apparently, and had been shocked to find that peaceful sleep was attainable on the evenings he attempted it beside Tony.

Well, with two notable exceptions, of course.

“It's okay, I knew what I was in for,” Tony answered softly. Peter made another of those sleepy sounds, which in turn prompted Tony's heart to seize up with affection. “Besides, it was worth it. Look at this little peanut.”

Steve hummed his agreement. “He already loves you.”

“Yeah?” Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat, and buried his nose in the mess that was Peter’s hair at the moment. “Well, the feeling is most definitely mutual.”

“I’m glad,” Steve whispered, voice thick with emotion. There was a tiny hitch when he breathed in, and Tony lowered his fingers, stroked along Steve’s jaw reassuringly. “Getting to see the two of you together this last week has been…” Steve made a soft, vulnerable sound, and exhaled shakily, clearing his throat before trying again, this time in French. “You’re so good with him. _For_ him. It’s beautiful, Tony. And then I think how close I came to destroying any chance for Peter to have you in his life, and the guilt and shame makes me want to throw up.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, and shifted his hand from around Peter’s waist up to where Steve’s hand was stroking his son’s back, and twined their fingers together. “Hey. I won’t lie, and say I’m okay with _how_ it happened, but… at least now I understand why you were so scared. We can’t change the past, but look—here we are. Still scared together, Steve.”

Steve’s lips were very warm when they brushed against Tony’s neck. “I know.” Steve sighed again, and somehow found a way to press himself even closer. “You’re right. I’m working on… on shifting my perspective. It’ll still be a while before I’m ready to forgive myself, though. Peter deserves better. So do you.”

Whatever time it was, light had begun to filter through the windows, casting shadows along the fabric of the tent above them, the strange, shifting shapes almost hypnotizing. Tony watched them as best he could without his glasses, and squeezed Steve’s fingers.

“Peter won’t ever have to wonder if he was a mistake, or know he was a disappointment,” Tony whispered. “He’ll grow up feeling loved, and safe. _Please_ try not to take this as a criticism, or think you need to keep these things to yourself, but it kind of pisses me off when you talk like you’re a bad father. I have first hand, intimate knowledge of shitty parenting, and you? You’re a _good_ dad, Steve, amazing, really, considering what you’ve been dealing with.”

Tony’s view became obstructed as Steve propped himself up on an elbow so he could look down into Tony’s eyes. His expression was grim, but that wasn’t too surprising, given all the stress of the last week. Steve held his gaze for a long moment, leaving Tony to wonder if he’d overstepped, but then Steve nodded.

“Okay. And thank you. That means a lot.” Steve shifted his gaze to Peter, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips, there and gone again.

Watching Steve watching Peter, Tony felt the return of the unwelcome conflict he’d been struggling with since Steve’s meltdown, and made a point of letting the anger sit in his heart for a moment, before letting it go on an exhale. Really, he wasn’t so much angry with Steve as he was irritated that, despite everything, he couldn't seem to _stay_ angry with Steve. Tony was pretty sure he should still be furious, but since he wasn't, he was left floundering instead.

What had begun as the worst day of Tony’s life—and that was saying something, considering the number of extraordinarily shitty days he’d experienced—had confusingly improved to the extent that at points Tony reached heights almost classifiable as euphoria. Tony had indulged in some pretty spectacular designer drugs back in the day, so he’d gotten up close and personal with the sensation, and while this had lacked the fun side effects of hallucinations, or feeling as if his skin was on fire in the best possible way, hanging out with Peter had won out over any drug induced state, no contest.

The downside, of course, had been that Steve was still in a state of crisis, and seeing him in pain wasn’t ever going to be something Tony was comfortable with. Then there was his own internal state of affairs to consider, because the morning had left him emotionally raw, and drained. But even with all the awfulness, Tony couldn’t help but find himself continually thinking of everything happening to him and around him as being the beginning of something _remarkable_.

It actually reminded Tony a bit of how he’d felt a month or so after having the heart transplant. Yes, making the initial breakthrough with the artificial heart had been epic, and waking up in the hospital to find himself still alive had also been right up there, but it wasn't until later on that the enormity of it all really hit home. He’d been in the middle of doing something mundane, when it took him by surprise; somehow, despite everything, Tony had managed to beat the odds, and cheat death. He'd _survived_ , even though he shouldn't have been able to. The relief had been almost too much to handle, and Tony had himself a good cry upon realizing he was no longer actively expecting everything to go horribly wrong.

So it was a little like that, like facing his biggest fear—that Steve was nothing more than another name to add to the long list of people who had trashed Tony's heart—only to realize that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't going to need that list anymore.

Those times he could distance himself enough from his strange state of mind to attempt to bring logic to the table, Tony was left wondering if he wasn’t actually the biggest fucking sucker on the planet. But then he’d look at Steve, and just… _believe_. Not that everything was going to be sunshine and kittens from there on out, but that Steve legitimately _loved_ him, and that this was finally the start of really and truly being _together_. For maybe the first time ever, Tony found himself comfortable imaging a future featuring him and Steve and Peter.

That morning had been awful, no two ways about it, but it had left Tony feeling oddly reinvigorated by the time he'd stepped out of Steve's bedroom, and into his new life. Sure, he still wanted to cry, and maybe dive face first into a bottle of scotch, but underneath it all was… _relief_. It didn't make much sense, all things considered, but what the fuck did, really? All he knew was that Steve had hit bottom, had finally given up on the pretenses, and despite how much Tony's heart ached to see him in pain, and hated how things had played out, part of him was _happy_ , because now Steve could finally get the help he so obviously needed.

After Steve had calmed down a bit, he’d asked Tony to head back out, and take care of Peter for him while he went with Sam. Bucky had taken one look at Tony's face, and the relief Tony had seen in his eyes somehow made everything seem real in a way it hadn't before. Bucky hadn't needed to ask if Tony was still in it for the long haul. Instead, he’d crossed the distance between them in three long strides, and yanked Tony into a fierce hug.

“You're not in this alone,” Bucky said gruffly, his embrace almost painfully tight. “We're all here for you, too. Don't forget it.”

“I won't,” Tony promised. “Believe me, I'm gonna need the help.”

Bucky’s eyes were bright with tears when he pulled back, but there was a smile on his face. “Anything. You're family, Tony.”

And yeah, he'd kind of wanted to laugh at the idea, because for him that word came with a lot of baggage, but instead Tony found himself returning Bucky's smile. Hadn't he always wanted a real family, the sort that stuck together through thick and thin, where you could fuck up, but they'd still love you, and would help you if you needed it? Even though he'd only really been around the edges of it, in that moment Tony _felt_ like part of Steve's family.

Maybe Bucky could see it in his eyes, because he gave Tony another hug, and then went and tousled his hair, prompting Tony to swat away his hand.

“Family, huh?” Tony said, eyes immediately drawn to Peter, who was bouncing in place, clearly anxious to return to their robot project, but too well behaved to start making a fuss.

“Yup, you're stuck with our ugly mugs.”

“Speak for yourself,” Clint said from across the room. “I'm gorgeous.”

“Tony,” Peter whined, his adorable little face full of impatience. “You were gone _forever_!”

“Sorry about that, cupcake. Did Clint behave?”

“No,” Peter said, prompting Clint to gasp in faux outrage. “He tried, but he was naughty.”

Bucky hid his face behind a hand, shoulders shaking with laughter, while Clint pouted. “What the fu— _heck_ did I do?”

“You picked’ed up the robot’s leg,” Peter accused, pointing to some scattered parts on the coffee table, “and it fell apart.”

Tony settled back down onto the floor beside Peter, feeling a little like a year had passed since they’d last seen each other, even though it could only have been twenty minutes or so. “That’s not so bad,” he said, examining the aftermath of Clint’s interference. “Besides, we’re scientists, right? We look at problems as opportunities to learn something new.”

Peter beamed at Tony—there really wasn’t any other way to describe it—and then he found himself on the receiving end of yet another hug. Peter held on tight, and sniffed, his voice tremulous when he asked as quietly as possible with his mouth up against Tony’s ear, “Why is daddy hiding?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and hugged harder, swallowing past the lump in his throat before shifting so he could cup Peter’s face in his hands, and look into the little boy’s eyes. “Your dad is feeling sick right now, and he didn’t want to worry you.”

“Will he get better?” Peter rocked back and forth on his feet, expression eerily reminiscent of Steve’s brooding face, and Tony gave in to the impulse to plant a big kiss on the kid’s forehead, and give him another hug. “I had another daddy _and_ a mommy when I was a baby, but they died.”

“I promise you don’t have to worry about that, pudding-pop,” Tony said, smoothing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “Sam is going to take him to see the doctor, while we hang out here with your uncles.”

Bucky had set up camp on the other side of the table, but leaned over to rub Peter’s back comfortingly, meeting Tony’s eyes for a moment before attempting to console his nephew. “Tony’s right, Petey. Me and Clint had the same thing your dad has, and we’re just fine.”

“Really?”

Clint nodded, answering, “Yup,” in unison with Bucky.

Some of the worry left Peter’s face, which made it slightly easier for Tony to breathe. He wasn’t sure how many sobbing members of the Rogers household he could handle comforting in one day before his heart actually broke. To top it off, Tony was all too familiar with feeling powerless, and scared. That’d been a reoccurring theme in his own childhood, actually, and he had to bet Peter was dealing with a bit of that sensation at the moment, too.

“Here’s the thing, kiddo—it’s okay to be scared or worried, or have questions. You can always talk to your dad, or your uncles, or aunt, or grandpas, or Sam, or me. You don’t ever have to worry all on your own, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hey, I bet he’s taken really good care of you when you’ve been sick before, right?” Tony asked, smoothing Peter’s lab coat back into place. “What do you think, want to help me take care of your dad while he’s getting better?”

“Yeah.” Peter’s eyes lit up. “We could make him soup!”

“Definitely, soup is a good start,” Tony agreed. “Hugs too, probably.”

Peter nodded again, a sly sort of smile sneaking onto his face. “I bet a dog would make daddy feel better.”

Bucky burst out laughing at this, and Tony was still trying to figure out how he should respond to that particular suggestion when the bedroom door opened, and Steve emerged. He’d put on a different shirt, and neatened up his hair, but there wasn’t much Steve could do about hiding the fact that he’d been crying.

“Daddy!” Peter shouted, and took off running.

Tony scrambled to his feet, watching the play of emotions rushing across Steve’s face as he scooped up his son, and hugged him tight. After everything that had happened, Steve was so wide-open that witnessing the moment almost felt like an intrusion, right up until Tony found himself ensnared by Steve’s eyes. Never breaking eye contact, Steve shifted Peter to his hip, and beckoned for Tony to join them, sadness and hopefulness warring for control of his expression.

Taking a deep breath, Tony accepted the invitation, and crossed the room. It felt like everyone was watching them, and for a second self-consciousness got the best of him, but by then Tony was close enough for Steve to take him by the hand. Then it didn’t matter, because Steve was holding onto him as if scared Tony might disappear at any moment, and Peter was there, too, wrapping an arm around Tony’s neck to join in on the hugging.

“Tony said you’re sick,” Peter babbled into the huddle, “but we’re gonna take care of you while you get all better.”

“That sounds perfect,” Steve managed, his voice cracking before he got it back under control. He kissed Peter on the cheek, and then did the same to Tony, holding his gaze. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Peter answered.

For his part, Tony dug up a smile. “We’ll both be here waiting for you when you get back,” he said, not missing the gratitude shining in Steve's eyes.

“I love you,” Steve murmured, squeezing Tony tight before focusing on Peter, “and I love _you_ ,” he added.

Peter gave Steve another squeeze. “I love you, too, daddy,” he said in a sing-song.

“Thank you, Petey. Be good for Tony while I'm gone. And don't worry, I’m going to be okay, _especially_ if you two are taking care of me.”

Peter nodded. “I'll be _extra_ good.”

Steve looked to Tony, and there was fear there, along with everything else. Tony curled a hand around the back of Steve's neck, and squeezed. “It'll be okay, Steve, I promise. Scared together,” Tony said in a flurry of French, adding, “I love you,” in English.

For a moment, he thought Steve might lose it again, but he managed to keep it together, leaning in to press a kiss against each of their foreheads before sighing, and handing Peter off to Tony.

“Okay. I'll be back soon,” he said, sounding as if he didn't quite believe that, but wanted to.

“Bye, daddy!”

“Call or text if you need to,” Tony said. “We’ll be here doing science.”

While Bucky gave his brother a hug, Sam stopped to give Tony's shoulder a squeeze, mouthing, “Thank you,” before heading out with a reluctant Steve.

It was quiet for a moment, the adults in the room exchanging glances in the silence, until they heard the exterior door close as well, and Tony let out the breath he had been holding. Clint grabbed hold of Bucky, and pulled him into a hug, rocking Steve’s brother back and forth in his arms. Tony had to imagine they were in an even weirder place than he was at the moment, after all the time they’d spent worrying about Steve’s precarious state of mental health.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait and see while hoping for the best, so Tony took another deep breath, and focused on the munchkin currently fidgeting in his arms. “What do you think, ready for more robot time?”

Peter gave a cheer, which was answer enough for Tony. He set the kid down, then allowed himself to be dragged back over to the coffee table, while Bucky and Clint signed away at each other. After a couple minutes, Clint excused himself to pop down and give Natasha an update, while Bucky sprawled on the couch looking about as worn out as Tony was feeling.

“That could've been a _lot_ worse,” Bucky said in French, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I feel like we just defused a bomb.”

“Steve's lucky you guys were at the diner,” Tony pointed out. “I don’t think I was in a position to defuse anything.”

Clint had clarified that missing piece of the puzzle for Tony earlier on, explaining how he'd been about to shove a forkful of waffles into his mouth when he'd spotted Steve marching out of the building with Tony over his shoulders. They’d left a pile of cash for Deirdre, then exited the diner as subtly as possible before running across the street to find out what the hell was going on. Clint was a good person to have on your side; he’d been keeping an eye out for anyone snapping photos, and had been able to alleviate Tony’s mounting concerns that his breakdown was going to wind up all over social media.

“If anything, Steve's lucky he's got _you_ , Tony,” Bucky countered, holding Tony's gaze. A weary smile returned to his face as he switched back to English. “We all are, right, Pete? You happy you get to hang out with Tony now?”

“Yes!” Peter answered enthusiastically. “He’s my new best friend.”

Which almost had Tony in tears all over again, but for entirely different reasons. “Lucky me, then.” The happiness felt strange, amidst everything else, but Tony wasn’t complaining.

Clearing his throat, Tony switched back to French, not wanting Peter to go and accidentally repeat anything he shouldn’t in front of Steve. “If he runs into any roadblocks with the VA—financial or otherwise—and is too stubborn to ask me for help, let me know, okay? I’m pretty good at cutting through red tape.”

“Thanks. I wish I could say we won’t need it, but...” Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “They don’t exactly make it easy sometimes. Me and Sam have maybe been up to something behind the scenes. This is just between us, right?” Tony nodded, and Bucky relaxed. “We’ve had the perfect guy on standby for over two and a half years now. Sam reached out to him before comin’ here, so thankfully Stevie’s gonna get a jumpstart on all this shit.”

“Two and a half years,” Tony said to himself, feeling the weight of Bucky’s confession.

Tony had expected Bucky to stick around to supervise until Steve got back, but maybe ten minutes into some serious robot building, he got a text and hopped off the couch.

“Tasha needs backup,” he explained, shrugging into his jacket. “She couldn't get hold of a couple of their appointments, and they need me to sit up front and look pretty while turning away foot traffic.”

Tony’s stuttering protests were literally waved away by Bucky, who just said, “You got this. Call if something catches on fire,” and left.

At first, Tony had been scared shitless over the idea of being left alone with Peter, but after an hour it felt blissfully normal. They worked together on their robot, Peter listening raptly, making some impressive intuitive leaps along the way, so that half the time Tony didn’t even need to use real sentences in order to guide him through the process. In a lot of ways, it reminded him of collaborating with Bruce, where they could use shorthand, and gestures, and find themselves in that wonderful state of shared nerdiness.

Hour after surreal hour passed, robot building eventually interrupted by Tony's grumbling stomach. After a serious debate over tomato or vegetable barley, Tony heated up a carton of soup and made some sandwiches, while he and Peter discussed which animals would make the best astronauts.

From one moment to the next, Tony found himself ecstatic, and heartbroken, and this time none of it had anything to do with Steve. It was stupid, but he couldn’t stop thinking about being Peter’s age. By five, he’d already figured out that there was no pleasing Howard, but that hadn’t kept Tony from trying anyway, desperate for some fleeting sign of approval from his father. In the long run, all it had gotten him was disappointment, threats, the occasional split lip, and a whole lot of shit to cry about in therapy.

Being on the other side of the equation was kind of fucking with Tony’s head a little. Peter was unbelievably sweet, and excited about the project, while also being the best sort of inquisitive, and surprisingly unafraid of making a mistake. Tony wondered if Steve had any idea how _big_ that was. Tony still had a scar or two from early soldering accidents, and could recall hiding the injuries for fear of Howard flipping out over him being a klutz. Never mind the insanity that was insisting your preschool aged kid be able to solder something unsupervised in the first place. By then, Tony had been dressed down often enough that he had Howard’s whole ‘Stark men’ expectations speech memorized, and understood that mistakes were something other people made.

Throughout his childhood, and even into adulthood, Tony had dedicated quite a bit of brainpower to trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him that even his own father hated his guts. Spending the afternoon with Peter—sharing in his triumphs, and brimming with pride as he persevered despite little setbacks—had reinforced everything Tony had been told in therapy, by Pepper and Rhodey, and even Bruce once or twice. Tony had always had the question all wrong. What the fuck was wrong with _Howard Stark_ that he felt the need to bully a little kid in order to make himself feel superior? Had he really been _that_ threatened by the early signs of Tony’s intelligence? Even the idea of criticising Peter had Tony’s stomach in knots; he couldn’t imagine a scenario where he’d want to make Peter painfully aware of all the ways in which he didn’t measure up.

It sucked, really, because his father had been smart, and larger than life, and despite everything, Tony had still looked up to Howard in a lot of ways. At the end of the day, Howard was still Tony’s father, and Tony had wanted to make him proud, or to be thought worthy of carrying on the Stark legacy. How fucking cool would it have been to have even a _single_ good memory of building something with his dad to look back on?

That was never going to happen, but somehow it seemed as if the universe had decided to try to make it up to Tony via Peter.

“Hey,” he said, gently elbowing Peter to get his attention. Once those big brown eyes were looking up at him, Tony smiled, and opened his mouth. “You did a really amazing job today, you know that?”

Peter’s smile was brilliant. “Really?”

“Absolutely. You’re quite the little scientist, my friend. Did you have fun?” Peter nodded enthusiastically, and flopped over so that he was half-sprawled on top of Tony. It was the easiest thing in the world to move his arm so that it was wrapped around Peter’s shoulders. “Good, me too. Lots of fun. We don’t always have to do science stuff to spend time together, either. I won’t be disappointed if you want to switch it up, or try something new. Just let me know.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed easily. “I like learning all sorts of things.”

He couldn’t travel back in time to comfort his five-year-old self, but Tony thought it was a pretty close second being able to hug Peter, and listen appreciatively as he rattled off a long list of things he wanted to know more about.

The two of them were still curled up together on the couch with Peter's new robot friend, watching a documentary on spiders, when Steve came home. Tony's heart was in his throat, half expecting Steve to flip out over Bucky having left them alone together, but that didn't happen at all. Steve had stopped in his tracks after walking in, and maybe looked a little dazed, but there was a distinct air of relief about him.

“We saved soup for you, daddy,” Peter called, scooping up his robot. “Look what me an’ Tony made!”

To Tony, it was obvious Steve was still an emotional wreck, but he was far calmer than he had been earlier in the day, and the smile hardly seemed forced at all when he made his way over to the couch. Despite everything he was dealing with, Steve carefully took the robot from Peter, and turned it around and around in his hands, examining every inch of the thing as he settled onto the couch beside his son.

“This is very, _very_ cool, Peter,” Steve said. “I bet you and Tony had fun making it, too.”

Peter crawled onto his father’s lap, and made himself comfortable. “So much fun,” he squeaked, while Steve wrapped him up tight, and buried his nose in Peter’s hair, taking care not to let the robot be damaged in the process.

At a slight loss, Tony reached over, and took it off of Steve’s hands for him. “I’ll reheat the soup while you recharge.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said, snagging Tony’s hand and giving it a squeeze before he could get too far away to reach.

Steve both looked and sounded like he'd been put through the ringer, which was understandable. Tony felt the same, and even though he knew there was a lot they would need to get around to discussing, he wasn’t sure either of them were up for it at the moment. It was easier to lose himself to the domesticity of making dinner for Steve, listening in while Peter chatted excitedly about his day with Tony.

Before long, Natasha, Sam, Bucky, and Clint all made their way back upstairs, and filled the apartment with some much needed distraction in the form of noise and laughter. Peter’s uncles went out of their way to announce their intentions to spend the night, which was a relief. Tony was surprisingly tempted to do the same, but after everything that had happened, what he really needed was time to decompress. He wasn’t in any position to react calmly if the following morning brought with it anything resembling a repeat performance on Steve’s part.

So, eventually, Tony found himself hugging Peter goodnight, then everyone else got in on the action before he was walked downstairs by a quiet, repentant looking Steve. Before another round of apologizing could happen, Tony stood on his tiptoes, and pressed a kiss against Steve’s mouth, unsurprised when Steve’s eyes filled up with tears.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Tony said, sighing as Steve held him tight, gently rocking each of them back and forth.

“Promise?”

And it was heartbreaking to look into Steve’s eyes, and see how terrified he was that Tony was going to change his mind, and never come back. “I promise,” he answered, holding Steve’s face in his hands. “Hey. I love you, okay? I’m still fucked up over everything, but _that_ hasn’t changed, Steve.”

At this, Steve lost his battle with the tears, but managed to get himself back under control fairly quickly, sending Tony off with a choked up, “I love you, too, Tony. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

Home felt even less like home than usual as he walked into his empty penthouse, so Tony opted to change into something more comfortable, and lose himself to work for a couple hours. Eventually, it caught up with him, so he saved his progress, and allowed himself a nice, long, cathartic crying session. After that, showering seemed like a good idea, as did coffee ice cream, and a call to Rhodey.

When Rhodey answered, the first thing Tony said was, “Guess who I met today?”

Tony left out all the bits about Steve losing touch with reality, and the awfulness of being made to feel like trash, and instead gushed to his bestie about spending the day with Peter.

“You're already talking like a dad,” Rhodey pointed out, the smile audible in his voice.

“Yeah, we're not quite there yet,” Tony admitted, flipping through the selfies he and Peter had taken with their robot. “So far so good, though.”

“I'm happy for you, Tones.”

“Thanks, Honeybear.”

He'd felt a bit guilty over omitting the horrible parts of the day, but Tony was too raw to handle Rhodey's reaction when he found out the truth. There would be profanity, and possibly threats, followed by pressure from his friend to consider distancing himself from Steve until he was in a better position to be somebody's partner. That was probably pretty good advice, but Tony didn't want to hear it. He wanted to pack his bags, head to the Rogers household, and never leave. Considering how his day had started, Tony suspected that particular desire wasn’t entirely rational.

Instead, he spent as much time there as possible over the following week, helping out with Peter whenever necessary, or sitting with Steve and talking things over. Tony tried to describe how gratifying it was to give Peter all the love, and positive reinforcement he hadn’t gotten growing up. Steve listened, held his hand, then opened his mouth, confessing his insecurities over being Peter’s father, and how grateful he was for all the help Tony had been giving him. They talked about Steve’s therapist, their respective group meetings, and Steve’s discomfort over being medicated. Sometimes Tony simply pulled Steve into his arms, and they said nothing at all, content to hold each other instead. Other times, all three of them piled onto the couch together to watch a movie, and it didn’t escape Tony’s attention that Steve tended to spend more time watching him and Peter than he did the screen, as if Steve was continually surprised to find them still there.

The change in Steve was shocking, but in almost subtle ways. Like, the fact that Steve hadn’t shaved in _days_ , which seemed like nothing on the surface, but was actually kind of epic. He was typically a control freak over his appearance; Tony suspected Steve of using his neat and tidy exterior as a way to prevent anyone from suspecting the chaos in his head.

It was strange being able to ask, “How are you feeling?” and have Steve answer with brutal, heartbreaking honesty, but then follow it up with, “But I still have you and Peter, so I know it’ll be okay.”

Then there was the surreality of Steve acting as if Tony had always been a part of Peter's life, and always would be. Tony was given a spare set of keys to the apartment, handed paperwork to complete so he could be officially authorized to pick Peter up from preschool, and Steve showed no hesitation whatsoever in having Tony babysit while he went for a run, or to an evening group session. Bucky made a point of filling Tony in on how long it had taken Steve to trust his parents, or Peter’s uncles to keep his son safe, and Tony had already witnessed first hand Steve’s need to check on Peter when he was staying with the Parkers. The level of trust being extended was gratifying, but also terrifying, since Tony wasn’t sure how Steve had decided Tony was better qualified to protect Peter than ex-military family members.

Over the course of what felt like the neverending week, Tony made sure to take time outs for himself, as well. Not just attending his support group meetings, but also fun things, like catching up with Bruce for some _Star Trek_ and Chinese food. He and Natasha went wandering around New York arm in arm, popping in and out of shops, indulging in haircuts and manicures, and generally making a point to only talk about Tony and Natasha things; no Steve Drama allowed.

Hanging around Brooklyn all week also meant Tony was present when Bucky and Clint stopped by—sans awful beards—to share the news that they were engaged.

“I thought marriage was a sham institution perpetrated by the man?” Steve teased, sounding more like himself than he had in days. Steve hugged both men enthusiastically, then shared a refreshingly bright smile with Tony.

“Damn straight, which is why we gotta show people what it's _really_ supposed to be about,” Bucky answered with a cocky grin.

All of it, even the difficult moments—like watching Steve stare at his medication as if he was facing a firing squad, or comforting him over the phone through the aftermath of a particularly shitty nightmare—had left Tony feeling closer to Steve than he'd imagined possible. Tony didn't _want_ to want to be angry with Steve; it had only been a week, but he'd found himself fully embracing the idea that he was family now. Spending the night camping in the living room, and getting to wake up snuggled between Steve and Peter was only reinforcing that feeling.

Steve’s eyes had shifted, so that he was now gazing at Tony while wearing exactly the same soft, loving expression he’d had on his face while he watched his son sleep. Tony had seen that look before. The realization of _where_ sent Tony’s heart tripping happily in his chest; Natasha had sent him a video where Steve had been shining with love as Peter blew out his birthday candles. And there that look was again, only this time it was all for Tony.

“I hope you’re not nervous about today,” Steve said softly, stroking the side of Tony’s face. “My dads are going to love you.”

Tony made a noncommittal noise. “At least your brother’s engagement means there’s something to talk about other than me.”

“Or _me_ , for that matter,” Steve added, wincing. With a sigh, he settled himself back down against Tony’s chest. “I feel like all I’ve done this week is talk about myself.”

“Yeah, well, you’re overdue there,” Tony pointed out, pressing a kiss against the top of Steve’s head so he’d know there was no judgement intended. “You don’t think your parents googled me, do you?”

Steve snorted. “Not likely. Seriously, Tony, I’m the one who’s going to get an earful.” He propped himself back up on an elbow, pulled a serious face, and said, “S’about damn time, Stevie,” in a voice Tony had to assume was a fairly decent impersonation of one of his dads.

Peter made a noise, and squirmed in Tony’s arms, his head popping up a second later. “Grampa Dum Dum?”

As Tony watched, Steve cracked up, the laughter making Tony’s stomach feel all fluttery. Fuck, but he was such a lovesick idiot. Tony caught himself trying to stamp out the sensation, as if it wasn’t allowed, and immediately stopped. If he’d decided to believe that Steve loved him, then what was the point in any of that? It wasn’t as if pretending not to be batshit crazy about Steve would make it hurt any less if things did go south between them at some point in the future. It was _his_ life after all, so Tony gave himself permission to forgive Steve and move on.

“I’m sorry, Pete, that was just daddy being a goofball,” Steve said, trying to get himself under control. “Wanna go back to sleep?”

“M’want pancakes,” Peter mumbled, burrowing closer to Tony.

“Pancakes sound pretty good to me,” Tony agreed. “Want to snuggle with dad while I make some?”

Steve opened his mouth to offer to do it instead, but Peter had already said, “Yes, please,” and Tony could see how much Steve wanted to simply spend some time curled up with his son.

“Come on, you heard him, dad,” Tony said, smiling up at Steve.

Tony wound up on the receiving end of a kiss before they spent a stupid amount of time shuffling around so Steve could take Tony's place as a pillow for Peter, while Tony gracelessly extracted himself from the tent. After stretching and visiting the little boy’s room, Tony got to work in the kitchen. The welcomed scent of coffee filled the room, followed by admittedly messy pancakes.

“Breakfast is ready,” Tony called. “Feel free to stay in the tent. I'm happy to eat all of these.”

The sound of giggling could be heard, followed by Peter's bare feet on the floor as he skipped across the room, and scrambled up into his seat. Steve wasn't far behind, wearing an almost shy smile.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said, hand sliding across Tony's hip and squeezing as he went to grab himself a cup of coffee. Peter chimed in with thanks of his own from around a mouthful of food, prompting Steve to add, “No talking with your mouth full.”

Because of reasons, the first thing that sprung to mind was the joke Steve had made, and Tony started giggling uncontrollably. Steve was looking at him, obviously confused, prompting Tony to turn his back to Peter in order to mime sucking dick. To his delight, Steve turned bright pink, and burst out laughing so hard he almost spilled his coffee.

“Sorry,” Tony snorted, even though he wasn't.

Steve didn't seem to mind so much, either, considering he edged closer, and wrapped an arm around Tony's waist. “You're bad,” he said in French against the nape of Tony's neck.

“Hey, you made that joke first,” Tony pointed out, “so obviously, you're a bad influence.”

“Must be,” Steve agreed. He gave Tony's ass a quick squeeze before helping himself to a plate of pancakes, and heading for the table.

Tony still had a stupid smile on his face when he joined his family for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I love you. I just... *shakes head* Seriously, the emotional investment you have in this Rollercoaster of Feels just warms the cockles of my heart. Hopefully, this week's optimistic iteration of Tony Stark left you smiling at times. Peter might be a fan. Tony might be in love. Steve is definitely one lucky guy.
> 
> Meanwhile, I'm glad that Peter has confirmed our suspicions that Clint is incapable of behaving. And, um, Steve should be worried about how Rhodey will react when Tony eventually clues him in on what happened. 
> 
> Next week, Tony actually gets to meet the Howlies! And, erm, we learn about a very formative moment in Steve's life. *shifty eyes*
> 
> BIG LOVE FOR ALL OF YOU~!!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once there was a way to get back homeward.  
> Once there was a way to get back home.  
> Sleep pretty darling do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby.

Steve paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning to face Tony. “Ready?”

“Not really,” Tony admitted, shoving a shaking hand into his jacket pocket. Peter was holding onto the other one, and leaning toward the door, trying to pull Tony forward. “Statistically speaking—”

“They’re _all_ going to love you,” Steve insisted.

As Steve watched, Tony’s mouth twisted uncomfortably before one of his press circuit smiles was in place. It had been a while since Steve had seen Tony in one of his fancy, well tailored suits, and while he definitely appreciated the visual, Steve understood it was really a way for Tony to feel more secure.

Steve could give Tony assurances all day, but that wasn’t going to make a difference. And—as so many things in their relationship had been—the entire scenario was a bit unfair, and worked to Steve’s advantage. Tony’s parents were dead, so aside from Pepper and Rhodey, there hadn’t been any family on Tony’s side for Steve to stress over meeting.

“It’s okay if you want to do this another time,” he said, letting go of the doorknob in order to grab Tony’s shoulder, and give it a squeeze.

But Tony shook his head, and turned the smile up a notch. “Nope. We’re here, right? Let’s do this.”

That said, Tony motioned to the door, and allowed Peter to drag him inside when Steve opened it. Gabe, Jacques, and Jim were mid-passionate discussion about something pastry related, the raised voices covering the sound of their entrance.

“Hey gang,” Steve called, shutting the door behind him, and following after Tony and Peter. They’d made it into the living room, where Peter was bouncing on his feet, still holding Tony’s hand.

“Gramps, this is Tony,” Peter said with as much drama and gravitas as a five-year-old could muster. “He knows about _everything_ , ‘specially science things, and we built a robot, but I left him at home.”

Tony was smiling down at Peter, even though there was an edge of something more serious in his eyes. “Don’t be fooled by the dazzle, kiddo. No one knows _everything_. In fact, I bet you know lots of stuff I don’t know.”

The Howlies were already on their feet, each wearing a smile, and waiting for Steve to take over the introductions, thankfully trying not to crowd Tony. Meanwhile, Peter seemed to be giving Tony’s words deep consideration, before his smile returned in full force.

“I know all my grampas’ names, and you don’t,” Peter pointed out, rocking back and forth, still holding onto Tony’s hand. “An’ where they keep the cookies.”

“There we go,” Tony said, “and I bet there’s loads more.”

Time and time again, Tony astounded him with his approach to interacting with Peter. Everything he did was encouraging, and supportive, yet entirely devoid of pandering. It looked effortless, but Steve knew how much of Tony’s approach was based on how poorly he’d been treated back when he was Peter’s age. They’d talked around the edges of that, but unsurprisingly, Tony wasn’t entirely comfortable with the subject. Considering how Steve had repaid Tony’s trust up until this point in their relationship, Steve didn’t blame him for holding back.

Steve fought down the impulse to kiss Tony, or pull him into an embrace, knowing that would probably be exceptionally awkward for the man at the moment. Instead, Steve stepped close enough to be able to press a comforting hand between Tony’s shoulder blades, as he got on with the introductions.

“This is Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, and Jacques Dernier,” Steve said, watching the flurry of handshakes. “I’m assuming Dum Dum and James are in the kitchen?”

“Not anymore, they ain’t,” Dum Dum bellowed. A moment later, Steve found himself wrapped up in a hug, his feet momentarily leaving the ground as Dum Dum hauled him up into the air. Once Steve was back on the ground, Dum Dum leveled him with a glance. “This the guy?”

Steve ducked his head, thinking of a conversation from a lifetime ago, endlessly grateful that he’d taken his father’s advice, and stuck with Tony. “This is the guy,” Steve agreed solemnly, heart thumping happily in his chest. He meant the words in more ways than one, and didn’t doubt Dum Dum understood what wasn’t being said. Unable to help himself, he snuck a glance at Tony, and was pleased to see him already looking more relaxed.

“S’about damn time, Stevie,” Dum Dum declared, and since he was still staring at Tony, Steve had the privilege of witnessing the widening of Tony’s eyes, and the more genuine smile working its way onto his handsome face.

“Okay, that is eerie,” Tony said, extending a hand to Dum Dum. “Your son does a scary good impression of you.”

“Does he now?” Dum Dum took Tony’s hand, and used it to pull him into a hug, clapping him on the shoulder, before looking him over, grinning impishly. “Great to finally meet ya, Tony.”

“Great to be met,” Tony countered.

A moment later, James was stepping up, and Tony was shaking his hand as well, making everything official. Steve couldn’t stop smiling, even though he was feeling overwhelmed, and wasn’t sure how to handle all the approving glances being thrown his way. This was as new for him as it was for Tony; aside from Peggy, Steve hadn’t actually brought anyone home to meet his folks before.

Thankfully, the pressure to facilitate conversation was taken off of Steve with the arrival of his brother, and Clint. The room erupted in sound, and it didn’t escape Steve’s attention that Tony’s body language shifted subtly toward relaxed.

“Looking sharp, Tony,” Bucky called, pulling him into a quick hug.

Bucky had an arm around Tony’s shoulders, and was gesturing wildly while they chatted, Gabe and Jacques joining in, English and French flowing in and out of the conversation. Clint and Jim were looking at something on Clint’s phone, and James was crouched down and talking with Peter, who was leaning against Tony’s leg, probably gushing about his robot. Tony had a hand in Peter’s hair, tousling it absently, and everyone was smiling, the mood in the air almost celebratory

Steve watched the exchange unfolding between his family and Tony, feeling once again as if he wasn’t actually there. Apparently, dissociation wasn’t uncommon for people with PTSD, which had been a relief to learn, since that sort of ‘not there’ sensation happened to him more often than Steve was comfortable admitting, and was usually not associated with happy feelings.

This, though, was a very good thing, more of a state of happy disbelief than anything else. It was like waking up that morning to find Tony still there with him, then seeing Peter nestled safely against Tony’s side, and wanting to live in the moment forever. Somehow, despite every awful misstep he’d taken, Steve had been given another chance at a family. It was wonderful, and eye-opening, and he was terrified he was going to fuck it up, but that wasn’t going to stop Steve from trying his damndest to keep them all together. To make Tony feel loved, and cherished, and part of his life.

“Come help me out for a minute,” Dum Dum said, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

The physical contact brought him back to himself, and Steve was surprised to find his face was damp with tears. Shaking his head, and wiping at his eyes, Steve got Tony’s attention before pointing to his dad. With a smile, Tony waved him off, so Steve allowed Dum Dum to drag him into the kitchen. The little pocket of quiet was just what Steve needed; the almost chaotic cheerfulness of the conversation between his family members bordered on draining.

“How’s it going, Stevie?”

Dum Dum’s playfulness had been left behind, his eyes serious as he looked Steve up and down, as if he’d be able to see a difference in him. For all Steve knew, Dum Dum could; he certainly felt different.

“That’s going to be difficult to put into words,” Steve answered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Bucky said he caught you up on what happened last weekend?”

Dum Dum led Steve over to the kitchen table, and sat him down. “Yup.” A moment later, a bowl of green beans was placed in front of him, along with a knife, and a cutting board, so Steve got to work trimming. “Told me you hit a rough patch, an’ that you were brave enough to ask for help, rather than strugglin’ on your lonesome.”

Steve nodded, not quite trusting his voice yet. That certainly wasn't how he would have described any of what had transpired, but considering he was still foggy on what had happened before winding up outside, Steve let it slide.

“Ah, apparently I have PTSD,” he said after a moment, staring at the knife in his hand. “Guessing you’d already figured that out, though.”

“We called it somethin’ different when I was coming up, but yeah, Stevie, we figured as much.”

Embarrassment and shame washed through him, leaving his face feeling hot. Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the realization that, despite his best efforts, seemingly everyone had seen through the cracks in his armor.

Looking back, Steve could recognize all the ways in which his friends and family—Tony included—had tried to steer him toward getting help, only to have him dig his heels in deeper. It was a wonder _any_ of them still wanted his stubborn ass around.

“I thought I was crazy,” Steve admitted, “the sort you can’t fix.”

Dum Dum patted him on the back. “Imagine it’s a relief to find out that ain’t the case.”

Steve swallowed, nodded again. Tony’s laughter drifted in from the other room, making his heart sing and sink simultaneously. “I wish I’d been able to get there without hurting Tony in the process.” Beneath the table, Steve’s leg bobbed fitfully. “I have a lot to make up for.”

“That’s likely the case,” Dum Dum agreed, and Steve had to smile. Dum Dum never had been one to blow smoke up anyone’s ass. “Guess you best knuckle down, and do right by him.”

“Believe me, that’s the plan.”

Dum Dum sat down at the table, and started helping with the green beans. “I do. Believe you, that is. Not sure if you’re aware of it, Steve, but you look at that man like he hung the moon.”

“Guess that’s because I love him,” Steve said, glancing up at his dad. Dum Dum looked downright proud, and that probably shouldn’t have been so hard to see. Steve added it to his long mental list of things to discuss during his next therapy session, then tried to push on, despite the guilt and discomfort. “He’s _so_ _good_ with Peter, it’s intimidating.”

“Those two already look thick as thieves,” Dum Dum said. “He meet the Parkers yet?”

Steve shook his head. “Not yet. Peter’s got a visit scheduled next week, so we’ll do it then.”

The Parkers were lovely, and had sounded nothing but thrilled about finally getting to meet Steve’s ‘special someone’ as May referred to Tony. Steve had never hidden the fact that he was gay, and didn’t really expect there to be a problem, but at the same time, Steve had heard downright _awful_ things come out of supposedly sane and reasonable people’s mouths when it came to same-sex couples raising kids.

With a sigh, Steve pushed his concerns aside for the moment. He was supposed to use his energy to deal with the problems he _had_ , not drain himself by running through scenarios for new and fantastical problems that didn’t actually exist.

“Good. We’re all real glad you brought him by today,” Dum Dum said.

“Hoping it’ll be a regular thing.”

“Even better.” Dum Dum knocked on the table, prompting Steve to look up from his green beans. “I know things are hard right now, and they probably will be for a spell, but believe it or not, Stevie, the worst is behind you. Now you get to rebuild, and I know for a fact you ain’t never been afraid of hard work.”

Steve took a moment to listen to the mingled voices from the other room, disbelief still sitting heavily in his chest. He’d spent years and years convincing himself that the worst possible outcomes were the very best he could hope for in any scenario where his mental health was involved. The reality of his current life never would have occurred to Steve.

“Helps having a reason to fight.”

“That is does,” Dum Dum agreed. He reached across the table, and took the knife from Steve’s hand. “Go on, then, give Tony the nickle and dime tour.”

Steve smiled his thanks, pausing to loop an arm around Dum Dum on the way out. “Thanks, dad. For everything.”

Walking back into the livingroom was strange, mostly because Tony looked like he belonged there. Bucky was showing off one of the many walls of photos, cocky little smile on his face, while Tony leaned forward, peering intently at moments captured in Steve's past.

“You two were adorable,” Tony said as Steve joined them, nodding at the photos. A much scrawnier Steve Rogers had his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, the two of them mugging for the camera during an Adventure Day outing.

“Still are,” Bucky insisted, striking an almost identical pose.

Steve gave his brother a playful shove, then snagged Tony’s hand. “I’m supposed to give you the tour,” he explained, dragging Tony toward the staircase.

They stopped along the way, Tony obviously enjoying getting to see all the photographic evidence of Steve’s childhood, and his family’s past. Jacques was a shutterbug, and so most of the walls were covered with framed photos, including along the staircase, and the hallway upstairs.

Eventually, they found themselves in Steve’s old bedroom, which hadn’t changed much since he’d shipped out to basic. There were some additions in the form of Peter’s toys, and new linens, but otherwise, it was like a time capsule.

“So this is where the magic happened, huh?” Tony joked, flopping down on Steve’s bed.

With a snort of laughter, Steve closed the door, and leaned back against it, looking around his old room. “Not unless Bucky was sneaking his girlfriends in here without me knowing.”

Tony hummed to himself, perching on the edge of the bed, looking far too beautiful for the likes of Steve. “You were still cute as hell before the growth spurt,” Tony said. “I would have snuck up here with you in a heartbeat.”

For some reason, Steve was blushing as Tony motioned for him to come closer. Once he was seated beside Tony, warm hands cupped his face, and Tony’s lips brushed against his own. Steve returned the kiss, a simple, gentle thing, thinking of himself back when he was a scrawny teenager, desperately trying to ignore the implications of what tended to flash through his mind when he jerked off.

Never in a million years would Steve have predicted he’d find himself back in this room one day sharing a kiss with a man, feeling _painfully_ in love, his heart breaking from gratitude over being loved in return. A life with Tony was everything Steve had never dared to hope for even before the Army changed his entire understanding of himself. If he was being honest, somewhere along the way, deep in the back of his mind, Steve had come to the conclusion that his future was to die serving his country, just like his father had.

“There you go,” Tony murmured, their foreheads pressed together, each of them breathing heavily, despite the innocent nature of the kiss. “Now your bedroom has at least seen some PG action. Better late than never, right?”

Steve sighed, and tilted Tony’s face so he could look into his eyes. “More like worth the wait,” he said, brushing his thumb across Tony’s cheek. “For me, anyway. I’m sorry it took me so long to bring you here, Tony.”

“Maybe it happened when it needed to happen,” Tony suggested, lowering his eyes. “Your house has a nice… I dunno, _vibe_ to it. You can tell people were happy here. Does that even make sense?”

“Yeah.” Steve shifted, so he was sitting with his arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Me and Buck were nervous as hell during the car ride over. Some of the older kids had been in and out of homes, and the stories they had…”

The tension in Tony’s body was subtle, but there, and so Steve opted to keep the details to himself. Tony hadn’t quite come right out and said as much, but Steve was willing to bet Howard’s abuse extended beyond the emotional. Maybe someday, Tony would feel comfortable enough to let Steve hold him, and listen, but today wasn’t that day.

“Anyway, as soon as I stepped inside this place it felt like home, and I stopped worrying.”

Tony hummed to himself. “I can see that.”

“When my ma was alive, we lived in this tiny studio apartment on the top floor of a building I’m pretty sure should have been condemned. It was an icebox in the winter, and you couldn’t even breathe in the summertime, the air was so thick. And then at the orphanage, each room had about six kids in there, minimum. I still remember thinking this place looked like a mansion when they brought us home. Bucky and I couldn't believe we'd each have our own room.”

Tony shifted closer. “Having grown up in an _actual_ mansion, I can say this is much nicer.”

Steve gave Tony a squeeze. “We sure didn’t have any complaints. Bucky and I aren’t blood related, so we never expected to get to stay together. Hell, I didn’t expect to get adopted, _period_. Everyone wanted babies. Even if some were willing to take the older kids, I had all those health problems, so I was definitely going to be at the bottom of anyone’s list.”

“Was that your biological father I saw in one of the group photos downstairs?” Tony asked cautiously. Steve nodded, and stared at his shoes. “Thought so. You've got his nose, and jawline. Same serious expression, too.”

“Sounds about right.”

Tony cleared his throat. “I didn't realize they served with your father.”

“Yeah, they were all in the same unit. Ma’d told me about my dad’s Army buddies when I was growing up, but I never got to meet them until after she died.” Steve sighed. “Makes me think I inherited my stubbornness from her.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony shifted so they could face each other. “Why's that?”

“I was helping Jacques look for something, and came across a bunch of her letters to the Howlies. I might have, ah, lifted them, then put them back later.”

Tony gave him a soft smile. “I won’t tell on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve snorted, and ducked his head. “They already know I read ‘em.”

Coming across the vaguely familiar swoops and swirls of his mother’s handwriting had been a shock, but not as much as the contents of the letters. “She acted like we were both healthy, and getting by fine on our own. Always had an excuse as to why they couldn’t visit to finally meet us in person, or why she was returning the money they’d sent. That kind of thing.”

Steve took a deep breath, and got to his feet, heading for the closet. He could feel Tony there behind him, anxious to ask questions, but staying quiet, as if worried how Steve might react. Some of it was simply Tony’s way of being respectful, but Steve suspected that these days a great deal of it stemmed from fear. It broke Steve’s heart, but he’d abused the trust Tony had extended him often enough to understand why it was happening.

“Hang on, found it,” Steve announced, yanking out a well worn leather portfolio from the top of the closet.

Feeling as if he was holding the weight of the world in his hands, Steve carried the portfolio over to the bed, and balanced it across his knees, opening it carefully. The sketchbook he set aside for the moment, along with an old box of worn down charcoal nubs, and oil pastels. Deeper inside was a wrapped bundle of photographs, which he handed to Tony, before setting the portfolio at his feet.

“These were from a couple months before she died,” Steve explained, carefully taking back the photos and flipping through them. His ma’s smile was as bright as Steve remembered, but it never quite made it to her eyes.

Tony was quiet as they looked through the handful of photos together, the warmth and solidity of him beside Steve a comfort. “How old were you?” Tony asked quietly, brushing a fingertip across the pale hair of a small boy sitting on his mother’s lap, as if trying to reach into the past to comfort him.

“About six and a half.”

“Damn.” Tony’s hand slid up Steve’s back, between his shoulder blades, until warm fingers were stroking along the nape of his neck. Steve relaxed into the touch, instinctively leaning toward Tony. “She’s beautiful. You have her eyes.”

Steve nodded his agreement. “She wasn’t always that skinny,” he explained. “I knew _something_ was wrong, but she either didn’t want to worry me, or…” Taking a deep breath, Steve struggled to find the right words. “I remember watching Peter while he was sleeping one night, about a month or so after adopting him and… He was so _small._  I think that was the first time I _really_ felt like his dad. And I thought of me, and ma—the two of us against the world—and tried to imagine being in her shoes, knowing she was dying when there’s this tiny, vulnerable person you love more than _anything_ , and they’re counting on you being there forever. I think maybe she just couldn’t accept that she was going to… to do that to me.”

Absently, Steve brushed a hand over his face to gather up the tears there, and took a couple deep breaths, wanting to get the words out. Tony’s hand moved in soothing circles across his back as he waited patiently for Steve to continue.

“I was mad at her for a long time,” Steve admitted. “Reading the letters didn’t help. The last reply she sent made it sound like she had this new job, when she’d actually lost the last of ‘em. I was getting taller and looking more like my dad every day, which wasn’t even close to the truth. _Nothing_ about her being sick. Ma was always putting on this brave front, telling me she was fine, and not to worry. I wanted to believe her _so bad_ Tony, so when it finally happened I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready. At all.”

Tony shifted, and when Steve looked at him, he was surprised to see he wasn’t the only one crying. Tony held his gaze for a moment, mouth pressed into a thin line, then seemed to make up his mind about something. There was nothing but sympathy in his voice, and understanding in his beautifully expressive eyes when he said, “I’m sorry. I always used to wonder if it was any easier having your parents die from sickness, so you had time to say goodbye. I’m guessing it always feels sudden, no matter what the circumstances.”

Steve nodded, and brushed aside a few of Tony’s tears for him. “You can say it, you know.”

“What’s that?” Tony asked, even though Steve could see in Tony’s eyes that he knew what Steve was talking about.

“That I went and did the exact same thing she did,” Steve said, his anger with himself making it into his voice. Tony winced, and even though there was nothing particularly amusing about any of it, Steve found himself smiling anyway. “Don’t worry, I already had that painful little epiphany while talking with Dr. Coulson.”

“Well, ah, thanks for not making me be the one to say it,” Tony answered on an exhale, appearing almost pleasantly surprised. “Your brother and I now consider the word ‘fine’ to be profanity, by the way.”

Steve bumped his shoulder against Tony’s, and ducked his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. And, um… I promise, I’ll only ever say ‘I’m fine’ again if I really am.”

“Good. Same here.” Tony extended his hand, and Steve found himself with the tears back in his eyes as he accepted, and shook on the arrangement. “I’m guessing you forgave your mom?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, shifting so he could reach the portfolio again. “Being mad didn’t mean I loved her any less. Just made missing her that much harder. Guess I’ve been thinking about ma a _lot_ this last week.” His fingers brushed along the edges of the album, and Steve hesitated, but then tugged it loose, and handed it to Tony.

Tony’s eyes widened in surprise, a smile creeping back onto his face as he turned it over in his hands, brows drawn together in confusion when he met Steve’s eyes again. “ _Abbey Road_? I mean great album—don’t get me wrong—but, uh, I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Ma loved The Beatles,” Steve explained. “She had a bunch of their albums, and we used to listen to them together all the time. _Abbey Road_ was her favorite.”

While Tony tugged the vinyl free from the sleeve, and ran his fingers over the grooves in the record, Steve snatched up his sketchbook and flipped through to a couple pages from the back, watching drawings from years ago flash before his eyes. He handed that to Tony as well, taking back the record for a moment.

“Holy shit,” Tony said, pointing at the drawing, then looking up again. “Was this an early draft of your tattoo?”

Steve nodded, chewing on his lower lip. “Never expected it to be a tattoo. I was maybe… sixteen when I drew this version? But if you flip through the book, there’s a bunch of them. I kept at it over the years until it felt right.”

Tony was studying the imagery as if it held all the answers to the universe.

“I wanted the rising sun to look distorted, the way it always did through the windows of our apartment. If you look closely, the shape of the sun is the same as the apple from the label on the record, and um, the sunbeams are the same thickness and spacing of the crosswalk lines on the cover. I sort of… spread them,” Steve explained, fanning out his fingers.

“Yeah, wow, I can see that,” Tony murmured, holding up the album cover, and studying the drawing again.

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, and pressed his hand over the left side of his chest, where the artwork lived and breathed with him every day. The distorted sun was rising over a road, one which for him had always represented the way back home, the same one McCartney had sung about in _Golden Slumbers_. Off to the side, two figures could be seen curled together in sleep, birds scattered across the sky above them, singing a song to start the day.

“She’d flipped the record,” Steve said, breath catching for a moment in his chest. “I’d fallen asleep somewhere during side one, but it was on side two when I woke up. _Because_ was playing, and _Here Comes the Sun_ is only about three minutes long, so I must have just missed her.”

As Steve watched, Tony squeezed his eyes shut, sending tears spilling down over his cheeks, his mouth twisting painfully. “ _Steve_ ,” he said almost pleadingly, having guessed what would come next, but not wanting to be right.

“She was on the floor, but I thought she was asleep,” Steve admitted, swallowing around the lump in his throat, “so I tried to wake her up.”

His mother had still been warm, and there was nothing even close to stiffness in her body yet, but she’d still felt _wrong_ when Steve had touched her. He’d known without really understanding the implications of it all that Sarah Rogers was gone, and he was all alone in the world.

“But it didn’t work,” Steve managed to get out, “so instead I curled up next to her and listened to _Abbey Road_ for the last time.”

A shudder ran through Steve, the music swelling up in his mind, as if someone had popped the record on the player downstairs in the living room. Even though he’d done everything possible to avoid ever hearing the album again, Steve had every pop and hiss of the record memorized, the notes and lyrics burned into his heart. By the time _Golden Slumbers_ had begun, he wasn’t even crying any longer, simply listening, and trying to comprehend what was happening.

And for a moment, Steve was there all over again, as if the rest of his life was nothing more than a dream, and he had never actually left that room. For years, Steve had been convinced his mother had known she was going to die that day, and was trying to communicate with him somehow by putting on that album. Was it her way of saying goodbye? Some sort of an explanation, or an apology?

It was far more likely Sarah Rogers simply hadn’t felt well, and wanted to comfort _herself_ , but the end result was the same. Steve had held onto her still body like it was a life preserver, growing more terrified by the moment, while the songs he’d listened to a hundred times suddenly took on new and profound meanings for him, as if childhood was being ripped away from him note by note.

When _Golden Slumbers_ transitioned into _Carry That Weight_ , Steve had been struck dumb, feeling the words as if they were a promise, or a curse. As if somehow the artists had _known_ what was going to happen in his life, and had written every last word for his ears, for that precise moment in time. It had frightened Steve even more than the stillness of his mother’s body.

And years and years later, the notes had swelled again from the deep recesses of Steve’s mind, distorted and haunting, as he pushed through pain, through the inability to catch his breath, fighting against his aching muscles, Bucky’s body a dead weight across his shoulders. The heat had reminded him of that old apartment, and Steve desperately tried not to think of his ma while he ran, and ran, and _ran_.

Struggling to speak, Steve gasped out the last of it, voice barely a whisper. “Once the record finished, I went downstairs to Mrs. Landry’s apartment—she and ma were friends—and asked if she knew what you were supposed to do when someone died.”

Tony very carefully gathered up the photographs, the album, and sketchbook, and set them aside before yanking Steve into his arms. Getting sympathy or comfort hadn’t been his intention, but Steve couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t a relief to let himself be held tight, and rocked in Tony’s arms. God, he didn’t deserve to be there, not even a little, but he wasn’t stupid enough not to try to earn the privilege if Tony was willing to let him have another chance.

Steve wept for the scared little boy who had fallen asleep part of a family, and woken up an orphan, but that wasn’t the only reason Steve was crying. Earier in the week, when talking to Dr. Coulson, Steve hadn’t known _why_ he couldn’t stop thinking of his ma, but once he opened his mouth and the words came pouring out, he was struck dumb by the realization that somehow, he’d been setting himself up for a repeat performance. Peter wasn’t that much younger than Steve had been when when his ma had died. Sure, if something happened to Steve, Peter wasn’t going to wind up in an orphanage, but it would still destroy his childhood, tear it away from him piece by piece, just as Steve’s own had been.

Even if Steve hadn’t already been committed to sticking with his therapy, to swallowing each and every pill, no matter how much it made him feel like a failure, that particular revelation would have been enough to show him how _desperately_ he needed the help.

But as much as he cried from sadness, or guilt and self-loathing, there was a part of Steve’s heart that was filled to bursting with happiness. There in the room where he’d spent the majority of his childhood, stretched out in his old bed, and listening to the beating of Tony’s heart, Steve felt as if he’d _finally_ found what he’d been hopelessly searching for ever since that horrible day; the way back home.

“That’s _heartbreaking_ , Steve,” Tony sighed, kissing his forehead, and holding on tighter. “I’m _so_ sorry. Fuck, and I thought identifying my parents’ bodies was rough, but at least I was nineteen when it happened.”

“I doubt that made it any easier,” Steve pointed out, stroking Tony’s chest.

Tony made a noncommittal noise. Steve couldn’t bring himself to say what he was thinking, which was that despite everything, his ma had looked peaceful at the end. Beautiful, really, as if she’d simply stretched out on the floor to soak up the sounds from the album, her fair hair fanned out beneath her like a little pool of sunshine, lips curled almost in a smile. Steve hadn’t liked the emptiness in her eyes one bit, but otherwise…

Steve had seen all sorts of dead bodies over the years, and was well aware that death was rarely as kind to people as it had been to his mother. The Starks had died in a car crash, and he had to imagine it was far worse having to see your parents stretched across an examining table, covered with a sheet, their features possibly distorted by injuries. Having strangers there watching you, pretending to have sympathy for what you were going through, when inside they were numbed to it all. Steve had been numb for a time, too, because that was how you survived.

Now, though, it wasn’t numbness Steve felt. It was a bit like he’d lightened some of that weight he’d been carrying around all those years. Part of him wanted to take it all back, feeling guilty about burdening Tony with more of his problems when he’d already put so much on his shoulders. Only, he’d tried handling life that way, and instead of protecting the people he loved as he’d always intended, in the end, all Steve had done was hurt them. Obviously, it was time to try a new approach.

“You doing okay?” Tony asked against the top of his head, and Steve wondered how long he’d been quiet for.

“Yes and no. I talked about most of this earlier in the week with Dr. Coulson, but… I’m not in love with him, so it didn’t feel _anything_ like this. I don’t know. _Everything’s_ been different since I lost it last week. Not even in a bad way, really.” Steve took a deep breath. “I knew I had to tell the doctor, but I actually _wanted_ you to know. Because I love you, and I trust you. And because maybe someday, I’ll be stronger, and… and we can sit together in the sunshine, and I can play that record again. But only with _you_ , Tony, only ever with you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony said into Steve’s hair, voice thick with emotion, making Steve’s heart seize up, joy and sadness and gratitude and hope all mingled together. Steve could hear Tony swallow wetly before he continued. “We’ll get there together, Steve. One step at a time, right?”

“Right,” Steve answered, and the funny thing was, he believed it in a way he’d never been able to before. “I was really lucky, if you think about it. When the Howlies stopped getting replies to their letters they got worried. Ma’d made them promise not to come by without permission, but they did it anyway. Of course, by then she was already dead, and I was gone, too.”

Tony’s voice rumbled beneath Steve’s ear when he spoke. “So they tracked you down?”

“Yup. They’d all promised each other. Anyone that got home in one piece would look out for the family of anyone who didn’t. Some people say stuff like that, but the Howlies actually meant it. My father was the only one with a newborn back home, but the rest of them still had family, you know?” Tony hummed his agreement. “I know some of ‘em got _Dear John_ letters while deployed, and Dum Dum’s wife never even bothered to tell him she’d moved on; they got divorced when he finally got home.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I know it sounds crazy, but in a lot of ways, coming back to the real world is a lot harder than anything else you deal with. I don’t blame the guys for wanting to stick together, after, keep their makeshift family together.”

If he closed his eyes, Steve could still remember seeing them all waiting there for him to come down to the common room of the orphanage, this motley crew of veterans getting looks of disapproval from some of the staff. It was like a dream come true for any of the kids stuck in that place—a long lost _someone_ that would swoop in and take you away, give you a home again. Steve had wanted to go with them more than anything, but he’d refused to leave Bucky behind all alone, never dreaming they’d share a look amongst themselves, and answer with, “Why not bring him along? We got the room.”

“Go Howlies,” Tony said softly, linking their fingers together.

“Jim likes to say it was a buy one, get one free sale, so how could they resist.” Tony shook with quiet laughter. “It seemed a _lot_ crazier when I got a little older, but now? I’d have done the same thing.”

“You actually _did_ , Steve, with Peter.”

Steve propped himself up on an elbow so he could see Tony’s face. His eyes were a bit red and puffy, but Tony was wearing a soft smile. “Yeah, but that was me being selfish. I’m sure he would have had a good childhood with the Parkers. Still surprised they didn’t contest the will, actually.”

Tony wiped away the stray tears still on Steve’s face, then gave him a playful shove. “Maybe they saw what Peter’s parents did; that you’d be an amazing father.”

“I _love_ being his dad,” Steve admitted, his heart feeling very full. “Everything about it, even the hard parts, has always made me think there’s actually a point to being alive.” Taking a deep, shaky breath, Steve stroked the side of Tony’s face, and stared into his eyes. “I thought sharing Peter would… would be a little like losing him. But it’s _nothing_ like that, Tony. It’s wonderful.”

Tony opened his mouth, but whatever he planned on saying was cut off by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Steve and Tony jumped apart as if they’d been caught in the act of something far more scandalous, then looked at each other and started laughing.

“Hope you’re decent, ‘cuz I’m comin’ in,” Bucky announced before opening the door. The snarky smile slid off of his face once he got a look at them. “Shit, everything okay?”

“I was telling Tony about how we wound up getting adopted,” Steve explained, carefully sliding the various items back into the portfolio. Bucky knew Steve had been the one to find his ma after she died, but the rest of it Steve had only shared with Tony. Tomorrow, when he went to see Dr. Coulson, he’d show him the tattoo, and talk about _Abbey Road_. He’d promised to be brutally honest, after all.

“Hey, who can resist a buy one, get one free sale?” Bucky asked, spreading his arms wide.

Steve wound the binding around and around his old portfolio before handing it to Tony, his heart racing, wondering if anything would ever feel normal again. Wondering if he’d ever actually experienced what someone would classify as normal, even once in his life. It was as if he’d been cracked wide open, and nothing wanted to stay put inside of him anymore. Every thought and feeling Steve had ever struggled to wall off inside of himself seemed intent upon spilling out of him in a continuous, confusing flood.

It would have felt a lot like the end of the world, except…

“Hey, come here,” Steve said, standing up and reaching for his brother. Bucky let himself be pulled into a fierce embrace, and held on just as tight, almost to the point of pain, which was perfect.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Steve tried to look at his life through a new perspective, like they’d talked about in his group meeting. Yeah, he’d lost his ma, but he’d gained a brother, and five dads. Despite everything—the guilt that ate him up every hour of every day—Bucky was alive, and well, was right there in his arms, in their childhood home. And best of all, he was _happy_.

“I love you,” Steve said, pulling back so he could look in his brother’s eyes. “I’m lucky to have you as a brother. Thank you. For _everything_.”

“Love you, too, Stevie,” Bucky said, kissing him and pulling him back into another hug. Steve found himself rocked back and forth, and smiled against his brother’s neck. “It’s gonna get easier, I promise.”

Steve nodded, and let himself believe the words. “Nowhere to go now but up, right?”

“There ya go,” Bucky agreed, patting his cheek, and grinning at him. “I can cover for you guys if you need a couple more minutes, but I gotta warn you, Pete’s going through Tony withdrawal.”

Behind him, Tony cleared his throat, and stood up, taking a moment to smooth his suit back into place. “Duty calls,” he announced, flashing them a smile before holding up the portfolio. “Want me to pop this in the car for you?”

Steve hadn’t intended to bring it home with him, but it seemed wrong now, leaving it behind. “Yeah. Thanks, Tony.”

Before he could leave the room, Steve snagged Tony around his waist, and pulled him in close, cradling Tony’s face in his hands. “Thank you for listening. I’m so glad you’re here with me,” he whispered in French against Tony’s lips, the kiss soft, and lingering.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Tony answered, and the fact that he was telling the truth was proof enough for Steve that Bucky was right, and he was going to be okay after all. “See you in a few.”

Steve watched him go, and sighed, wiping at his face again before sitting heavily on the bed. “This week felt about a year long.”

“Yeah, it’s like that sometimes,” Bucky said, leaning over to squeeze his shoulder. “Takes a while for the meds to kick in, too. Then it’s like… not so much that you’re not still feeling all that shit, but like you got enough distance to really get a handle on things, ya know?”

Steve stared at his brother, and tried to hold onto the reins, keep everything from getting away from him again. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for Tony through this,” he said, once he trusted his voice. “I know I’m not supposed to shit all over myself, but it’s hard not to, with everything that’s happened. I don’t think I’d still have Tony in my life if it wasn’t for all of you.”

“Hey, we ain’t the reason Tony loves you,” Bucky pointed out, kicking him lightly in the shin. “But you’re welcome. Fuckin’ took you long enough to give the whole having a life thing a shot, but I gotta give credit where it’s due, Stevie—you knocked it out the park with Tony.”

Despite everything, Steve found himself smiling like an idiot. “Yeah, I did.”

Bucky was grinning back, and for a moment, Steve felt like they were kids again. “I mean, he’s got looks, a sense of humor, he’s smart as fuck, _great_ with the kid, puts up with _your_ bullshit. _Tasha_ even loves him, which is like unheard of,” Bucky was ticking off fingers one by one. “Nicely done, Steve.”

“Thanks,” Steve answered, letting Bucky pull him up off the bed and toward the door.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s no _Clint_ ,” Bucky teased, knocking their shoulders together on the way out the door, “but good job.”

Steve was still smiling by the time the two of them finished pushing and shoving their way down the stairs, same as they’d done when they were kids. And there was Tony camped out on the couch between Jim and Jacques, having what looked to be a very informative conversation with Peter, who was standing in front of Tony, listening raptly.

“Ah, see, this is fun, because now we’re getting into orbital mechanics.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve, and raised his eyebrows as if Tony was proving his earlier point for him. Steve caught Dum Dum watching him from the kitchen doorway, as well, smiling that proud little smile of his.

“Wait, so what’s that mean?” Clint asked from where he was sprawled across the floor.

“Planets travel around the sun in ellipses,” Tony explained, face bright with excitement. “Everything depends on their relative positions in their orbits, so it changes over time. We want them both on the same side of the sun, in what’s called opposition. Today’s, what, the 8th?” Peter nodded, and Tony squinted and cocked his head to the side. “Right, so, actually, we have one coming up in fourteen days. Mars opposition will be 46.8 million miles from Earth.”

Bucky plopped himself down on the ground next to Clint, while Clint groaned, “Too far,” as if he’d planned on making the journey or something.

Steve circled around them, pausing to give Gabe’s shoulder a squeeze before he sidled up to Dum Dum, and let himself be tucked under his dad’s arm.

“Sure, that doesn’t _sound_ very close, but on the other end of the spectrum they can be as far apart as 249 million miles, so,” Tony paused to take a sip of coffee, gesturing to Clint as if his point was made.

“But how do you _know_?” Peter asked, face scrunched up adorably.

“Ah, through the very best language of them all, my curious little friend,” Tony smiled brightly, and poked the end of Peter’s nose, “mathematics.”

Steve took a deep breath, and let the happiness settle over him, even though it felt dangerous, and undeserved.

“I wanna learn _that_ ,” Peter insisted, sounding awestruck.

“Oh, we’ll do math together alright,” Tony promised, “just you wait.”

A moment later, Tony struggled not to spill his coffee while a happy five-year-old hugged him enthusiastically. The smile on Tony’s face was like a gift, but the look in his eyes when he turned to find Steve in the room was something else altogether. Steve could only smile back for all he was worth, overwhelmed as he was with gratitude, and love.

Whatever came next—no matter how hard, or painful the journey—Steve knew in that moment with absolute certainty that it would be worth it, as long as it meant keeping his family together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seriously was hard to write. Look, I'm not even a Beatles fan, to be honest, so it is sort of weird to me that I now have all of these feelings about the end of _Abbey Road_. Hearing "Golden Slumbers" in my head gets me a little teary eyed, thinking of tiny Stevie curled up next to his mom. [Do yourself a favor and play it](https://www.izlesene.com/video/the-beatles-golden-slumbers-carry-that-weight-the-end-her-majesty/7203070) if you've never given the end of that album a listen, and you'll see how perfectly it would all have fucked with Steve's head, especially when everything kicks over into "Carry That Weight."
> 
> Seriously, though. Steve has been carrying that weight every. single. day. of his life. And you know, deep down, there is a part of himself that feels responsible for his mom dying. Like, if he wasn't so sick, she would have been able to take better care of herself, etc. Sigh. STEVE. It's a very, very good thing you're in therapy, baby. Hey, at least we had some adorable Peter moments?
> 
> Oh, also? You can thank Ishtar12 for the perfect that is casting Coulson as Steve's no nonsense therapist. He just feels like he'd be the perfect blend of serious, and snarky, and yeah. A round of applause, please.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, Tony hasn't been focusing enough on himself, and the cracks are beginning to show. Despite adjusting to medication, and the fun of side effects, Steve notices, and decides a little something different might be in order.

Tony cringed as the bathroom door slammed shut hard enough to knock something over, the sound of breaking glass almost masked by Steve's shout of, “Damn it!”

Taking a deep breath, Tony tried to get his heart rate back down where it belonged, shaking his head as he stared at the ceiling. Part of him was tempted to stay put and jerk off while Steve calmed down, but since his hands were shaking in response to the cacophony that had accompanied Steve storming out of the room, Tony was going to take a pass on that option. With a frustrated sigh, Tony glared at his erection, then sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Okay. On the count of three,” he said to himself, hesitating.

After a very generous pause between numbers, Tony got out of bed, yanked on his pants, and made his way to the bathroom. Along the way, he stopped and frowned at the picture frame now lying face down on the floor surrounded by broken glass. Tony glanced at the closed bathroom door, then back at the mess, and opted to clean it up before one of them forgot it was there and got hurt. The night was already going off the rails; the last thing Tony felt like dealing with was a visit to the ER for stitches, or seeing how Steve reacted to blood on his floor.

Once that was taken care of, he really had no more excuses, so Tony headed for the bathroom, and knocked softly. “Steve?”

Tony rested his forehead against his forearm as he listened, and waited. A moment later, he heard Steve’s quiet answer. “It's unlocked.”

Bracing himself, Tony opened the door slowly, and peered inside. The lid was down, and Steve was sitting on the edge of the toilet seat, elbows braced on his knees, and head in his hands, shoulders all hunched pathetically.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Tony said, stepping into the room. “It happens to the best of us.”

Steve ducked his head, fingers lacing together at the back of his neck, as if he was bracing for impact. “This isn't _that_ , and you know it.”

Rolling his eyes at the ceiling, Tony scrubbed a hand across his face, and wondered if he should try to comfort Steve, or stay put. Opting to lean against the doorframe, Tony tried not to let his lack of enthusiasm for this particular conversation enter his voice. “Seriously, it's not a big deal. Come on out, we’ll put on a movie with no cartoon animals, and plenty of profanity.”

Steve lifted his head, and Tony finally got a look at his face, spirits sinking. It would have been easier if Steve was mad, but that looked like a whole lot of despondency in his eyes.

“It's a big deal to me,” Steve answered quietly. He looked Tony up and down assessingly, almost hungrily, before he lowered his eyes again, mouth trembling. “You shouldn't have to—”

“I get to decide what I should and shouldn't, blah blah blah,” Tony interrupted. “We can try again tomorrow, it's fine.”

Steve closed his mouth, and nodded, scrubbing quickly at his face to catch any tears. Tony was kind of regretting the abrupt tone of voice, but whatever, it was too late now. It’d been a long couple of weeks, he was horny, and if they weren't going to fuck, then Tony at least wanted to enjoy the rest of his Friday night instead of whatever the hell it was they were currently doing.

As he watched, Steve chewed on his lower lip, then caught himself, and nodded. “Okay,” he said, and _fuck_ , now Tony was feeling like an asshole, because Steve was obviously still upset about what had happened, and trying to pretend otherwise.

Tony opened his mouth, but drew a blank as Steve stood up, and forced a smile onto his face, eyes not quite meeting Tony's. “You're right, I'm sorry,” Steve said, swallowing.

“You don’t have to apolo—” Tony started to say, and even he could hear the weariness in his voice.

Steve cut him off with a kiss, then another. “No, _you’re_ right,” Steve insisted, looking far calmer than he had a moment before. “I’m overreacting.”

Tony felt like this was the part where he should say, “No, come on, let’s talk about it,” but instead he kept quiet, while Steve stroked along his jaw, and kissed him softly, again and again.

“We should take advantage of having a babysitter and go out, do something fun,” Steve suggested, hands settling at Tony’s hips.

“Like _what_?”

Oops, and yeah, that had definitely sounded cranky, but at the moment it was a struggle to remember what the hell they used to do for fun. These days—for Tony anyway—fun involved the five-year-old currently having a sleepover with his aunt and uncle. It was bad enough heading home in the evenings after getting Peter tucked into bed, knowing it would be hours and hours before he’d see the kid again. Waving goodbye as the Parkers drove off with Peter had been a lot harder than Tony had prepared himself for, and he was beginning to suspect that Peter’s absence had a lot more to do with his shitty mood than Steve’s inability to get a hardon. Not that that had helped any, of course.

The last time they’d had sex felt like a lifetime ago, and wasn't exactly a fond memory, considering Tony was woken up two hours into some blissful, post-orgasmic sleep so he could spend the rest of his night talking Steve down from panic attacks, and flashbacks, and… He was only human! Tony _loved_ sex, especially with Steve, and the idea of getting fucked into the mattress had sounded like the best possible way to distract himself from the Peter shaped void in the apartment.

Clothes had been torn aside, they’d been tangled together in Steve’s bed, making out like their lives depended on it, Steve’s hands everywhere, stoking a fire beneath Tony’s skin. Feeling ever so slightly drunk on sensation, Tony reveled in the warm silkiness of Steve’s skin, happily dragging his fingers and palms over every glorious ripple of well defined muscle. Tony had been preoccupied by the steady throb of his own erection, too busy rubbing himself against Steve’s thigh to notice what wasn't going on in Steve's pants.

Tony had said something along the lines of, “I _need_ your cock inside of me tonight or I might die,” and fished his hand down into Steve’s pants, only to find he was the only one of them locked and loaded. Not deterred in the least, Tony had tried his best to coax Steve along, the kissing eventually tapering off as _nothing_ continued to happen. It’d only gotten more awkward from there; Steve scowled at his own dick before looking up, and Tony probably hadn’t done a very good job of masking his disappointment. The next thing he knew, a very frustrated Steve had rolled off of the bed with a noise of disgust, then stormed out.

It wasn’t as if Tony had taken it personally. Obviously, Steve was into the idea of picking up where they’d left off in the bedroom. The problem was the antidepressants, and their not so fun side effects. Tony had been on a couple of different meds back in the day, not to mention varying dosages, before they’d found the right fit for him. There was a chance that Steve would get his groove back later on once things had stabilized—or maybe he wouldn’t, and they’d switch him to something else altogether—but Tony doubted saying anything of the sort would comfort Steve at the moment. Realistically, it could be months before he got everything fine tuned, which wasn’t exactly a heartening notion.

Steve’s hands slid along Tony’s sides, fingers meeting and clasping at the small of his back before pulling him in close. “Thor’s band is playing tonight,” Steve said, trying for cheerful, and falling just short. “Clint said he and Bucky were going, and that Natasha was probably swinging by.”

It took a moment for Tony to get over his surprise. He hadn’t _actually_ expected Steve to have a legitimate suggestion, but had to admit he was at least intrigued. “Thor’s in a band?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, the smile a bit more genuine. “No idea what kind of music it is since—according to Bucky—I’ve got the taste of a senior citizen, but at the very least it’ll be a good people watching opportunity.”

This got a snort out of Tony, some of the building tension easing out of his body, even as his spirits sank again. Going out would be a nice change of pace, but his overactive imagination was already scrolling potential triggers across his mind like a stock market ticker.

“I don’t know. It’ll be crowded, and loud.”

“It’ll be fine,” Steve insisted. He gave Tony a little squeeze, eyes going all soft and puppydog like. “It might be nice to get out, do something with other people. Worst case, if you’re not having fun, we leave.”

Tony wasn’t sure if he was preparing excuses for himself, or Steve, which was probably a bad sign. Earlier that week his support group had discussed the importance of not letting your entire life be taken over by someone else’s PTSD. Good advice, really, and Tony had actually opened his mouth and chimed in, admitting it was something he struggled with. Way back when he’d first gone into therapy, Tony had come to grips with the understanding that his default was to think of himself as less important than… well, anything else, really. The last couple weeks, he’d tried his best to take time for himself, but he’d also backburnered a lot of his life in order to be there for Steve.

Steve was rocking him back and forth now, whispering, “Come on,” encouragingly, a hopeful smile on his face. “You deserve a night out, right?”

“Okay, yeah, why not?” Tony agreed, unable to keep from smiling back.

It was kind of obvious that Steve was playing up his excitement for Tony’s benefit. He was probably feeling like he’d ruined their night, and wanted to make it up to Tony, which wasn’t the best reason to do something, but also… sort of sweet. If Steve was willing to try, it would be stupid not to take him up on the offer. Besides, it might actually be good for Steve to be reminded he had a life outside of therapy sessions, group meetings, and swallowing pills. Hell, it would be good for Tony to remember he had a life outside of Steve’s problems.

“I get to pick your outfit, though,” Tony added, grinning when Steve raised his hands in surrender.

“My body is yours, do with it as you see fit,” Steve teased, his laugh sounding genuine when Tony smacked him on the ass on the way back to the bedroom.

Twenty minutes or so later, Tony had Steve in tight, well worn denim, an even tighter t-shirt, and his leather jacket, which helped improve his mood significantly. Tony had assumed he’d be driving, but was very happy to be proven wrong when Steve snagged him by the elbow, and nodded in the direction of the alley.

“We haven’t taken the bike out in ages,” Steve said, and Tony's heart lurched happily. “What do you think?”

“It _is_ a beautiful night for it,” Tony agreed.

Even if the rest of the evening was a bust, at least Tony would enjoy getting to ride around on the back of the motorcycle, clinging to Steve like a limpet. Tony indulged himself by dragging his hands along the outside of Steve’s thighs on the way to wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, but who could blame him.

By the time they reached the venue, Tony was bordering on regretting the decision, mostly because he was entirely on edge again. In his defense, they’d never finished what they’d started earlier in the evening, and then he’d been subjected to twenty or so minutes of rubbing up against Steve’s denim clad ass while a motorcycle vibrated between their thighs. Since it was a bar, the lighting was probably going to be subpar, so Tony doubted anyone would notice the bulge in his pants before it had time to dissipate.

“Should we let them know we’re here?” Tony asked as they climbed off the bike.

“Clint will find us.”

Steve handed the guy at the door some cash, and a moment later Tony had his hand stamped, and was heading inside, grinning despite his reservations. The place had looked sort of alarmingly divy on the outside, but inside was a different story. It was definitely a metal bar, complete with some appropriate, endearingly ridiculous decorations, but the atmosphere was actually welcoming, and the crowd seemed surprisingly diverse. Tony had expected to see a lot of tattoos, piercings, and long hair, but not the mix of same-sex couples. There was also an impressive display of makeup skills going on, men and women alike with intriguingly painted faces.

Before Tony even had a chance to get his bearings, Clint swooped in startled the shit out of him by throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Good timing, man. The opener is almost done. _Ragnarök_ goes on in five.”

“ _Fuck_ , Barton, warn a guy!”

Steve glanced over his shoulder, and gave Tony an ‘I told you’ so sort of look. “We’re heading back there,” he said to Tony, pointing across the room. Tony hopped in an attempt to see over the crowd, managing to spot a flash of red hair, but then Steve took him by the hand and they were on their way.

Any second thoughts he’d been having over spending the night in a crowded bar, surrounded by booze, and people who could potentially recognize him, dissipated the second Tony spotted Bruce’s messy hair. “This is hurting my brain,” Tony declared, wrapping himself around Bruce, and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “ _Please_ tell me you secretly play bass in the band, or something.”

“Really? I’d be the drummer, if anything,” Bruce insisted, having to put his mouth practically on top of Tony’s ear to be heard. “Surprised to see you here.”

Bruce’s eyes slid to the side for a moment, presumably to where Steve was standing, expression darkening. Tony might have forgiven Steve for what had happened, but Bruce and Natasha were another story altogether. It was sweet to see how much they cared, and kind of made Tony want to cry with gratitude, but the last thing he felt like dealing with at the moment was more drama.

“Behave,” Tony pleaded, “I’m trying to have a social life for a change.”

Natasha chose that moment to reappear with three fancy looking, presumably virgin beverages, proving to Tony once and for all that she was some sort of superhero. He’d caught the flash of red and turned in time to watch Natasha walk in a straight line from the bar to their table, the crowd of drunk, excited patrons seemingly sensing her presence and making a path for her.

“Okay, seriously, _how_?”

Natasha looked over her shoulder, then back at their drinks, and shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Fine, be that way, but someday I’ll learn your secrets,” Tony threatened, following it up with a dramatic sip from his mocktail.

“Don’t do that bro,” Clint warned, “or she’ll have to kill you.”

Natasha leaned across the table and flicked Clint on the forehead. “That threat only applies to you,” she said sweetly. “Tony’s special.”

Opting to be the mature adult he was, Tony added, “Nah nah,” and stuck his tongue out at Clint.

It was a little loud for casual conversation, but the three of them huddled up, and Tony listened with interest as Natasha explained that it was Sif’s band, and she just allowed Thor to get on stage with her.

“Thor always wound up on stage once he had enough to drink, anyway. Sif’s former guitarist threatened to quit if it kept happening, so she told him to fuck off, taught Thor the songs, and put him in the band. It worked out, since the other guy had a problem with remembering who was in charge, and Thor is just happy to dress up, and have fun.”

Natasha had plastered herself along Tony’s left side, leaving the right for Bruce, and was absently playing with his hair as they talked. This, naturally, left no room anywhere really for Steve, which in turn made Tony feel guilty. Except, when he snuck a glance, he found that Steve was watching them with a smile firmly in place.

“Sorry,” Tony mouthed, but Steve just shook his head and smiled wider before refocusing on whatever Bucky and Clint were discussing.

“Tell him about the makeup,” Bruce suggested, prompting Tony to stop staring at his boyfriend, and pay attention.

“Yes, tell Tony about the makeup,” he suggested.

Natasha’s description fell short of the reality. One moment the room went dark, the next there was a spotlight on Thor, and the crowd went wild. Thor was shirtless, wearing furry boots, some sort of leather skirt, his hair done up in intricately braided pigtails, with his face painted like some glorious Viking zombie. The drone of guitars kicked in, as the next spotlight revealed Sif, also with a guitar, all in white furs and red leather, hair swept back and up, face painted like a skull. Tony was pretty sure he’d met the bass player and drummer during SHIELD’s New Year’s Eve party, but then he stopped caring, because Tony found himself blown away by sound.

“This could _so_ easily be silly, except it is absolutely epic,” Tony shouted at Bruce.

“Fascinating,” Bruce agreed, and the two of them toasted Natasha.

Clint waved to get his attention, then slowly signed, “Don’t my tattoos look great?” before pointing at Thor. Tony gave him a thumbs up, then settled in to enjoy the show.

A half hour in, he was sweating his ass off, because Natasha had convinced him they should head into the crowd by the stage. It both made him feel like a kid again, and incredibly old at the same time, but whatever the fuck. He was having so much fun watching the show that it felt a little like all his problems were far away. It wasn’t his sort of music, but Tony could appreciate talent, and Sif certainly had that.

Eventually, the press of bodies was too much, and so Tony squirmed his way free, heading for the bathroom. The slight deadening of sound as the door closed behind him was a welcome relief, and Tony sighed. He’d just finished washing his hands, and was about to leave the little oasis of calm when the door swung back open, and Steve stepped inside.

Tony’s heart lurched happily. Somehow, he’d actually forgotten Steve was there at the club with them, and the suddenness of his appearance was almost shocking. Tony had a split second to wonder if Steve might be pissed off about being sidelined for the evening, but any concerns over that vanished when Steve flashed him a bright, almost borderline goofy smile.

“Hey, you,” he said, motioning for Tony to come closer. “Having a good time?”

“Yeah, actually,” Tony admitted, distracted by the look in Steve’s eyes. “How about you?”

Steve settled his hands on Tony’s hips, and leaned down, kissing him before answering. “I have no idea if they’re even singing in English, the music makes me feel like my ears are bleeding, but I’ve gotta say, it’s still damned impressive. Clint’s networking like you wouldn’t believe. He did almost all of Thor’s work, you know?”

Tony nodded, distracted by the realization that Steve seemed _legitimately_ to be having fun. Instead of answering, he pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, and kissed Steve again. And again. Steve made a soft, contemplative sound against Tony’s lips. The next thing he knew, Tony was being walked backwards into one of the stalls, Steve closing and latching the door behind them.

“What are—”

This time, Steve _kissed_ him, taking hold of Tony’s jaw, and tilting his face up so Steve could have better access to his mouth. Then Steve’s tongue was sliding hotly against his own, and Tony was moaning, his dick twitching in his pants.

With a groan of disappointment, Tony pulled himself free of the kiss. “No fair, I’m way too keyed up,” he swore. “You’re already getting my dick hard.”

There was a bang as someone pushed open the bathroom door, letting the full wall of sound back in for a moment. Steve’s smile had shifted to something downright naughty, and he hadn’t broken eye contact, although he’d held a finger up indicating they should be silent. Tony tried to project his confusion, while the newcomer took a piss, and Steve peered over the door of the stall before ducking down again.

Steve pulled him in close, a hand sliding down over Tony’s ass and squeezing, while he dragged his lips along Tony’s jaw, and over to his ear. “I was sort of hoping to help you out with that,” Steve whispered, pulling back so he could see Tony’s face.

It took much longer than it should have for Tony to make sense of the words, distracted as he was by the flush in Steve’s cheeks, and the shy smile he was wearing. Then he was left dumbstruck, mouth literally hanging open, even as seemingly all of his blood rushed south. Feeling a bit like he’d misunderstood, or had fallen asleep at some point and was having an awesome dream, Tony shrugged, and nodded.

Tony had a second to appreciate Steve’s answering smile, but then he was being kissed again, Steve’s plush lips teasing him for a moment, before he was being devoured. There was the sound of the toilet flushing, but it seemed very far away as Steve sucked along Tony’s jaw, and a hand slid down to stroke him through his pants.

“Holy shit, Steve,” Tony moaned, hearing the outer door open and close again. “Are you serious?”

“Mm hmm,” Steve answered, tugging on Tony’s earlobe with his teeth. When Tony froze up, Steve stopped, and stepped back, giving him room. “I’m sorry, should I stop?”

“If this is about earlier, you don’t have to… to prove anything, Steve.”

A tiny furrow appeared between Steve’s brows, which was a shame. Tony had been enjoying the smile. “What? No, I’m not… What would I even be proving?” he asked, thankfully laughing.

Tony joined in with a shaky laugh of his own, then asked, “So, what the hell are we doing, then?”

“Well, I was sort of hoping to suck your cock,” Steve answered, biting down into his lower lip, and fluttering his eyelashes, “but I understand if public sex isn’t your thing.”

A high pitched squeak escaped Tony’s lips. “Who are you, and what have you done with Steve Rogers?” Tony asked.

“Hey, wait, is Steve Rogers that guy who never even had sex in a bed until he met you?” Steve asked, the snarkiness in full effect. A moment later, Steve’s expression grew more serious, and he sighed, an undercurrent of frustration in his voice when he added, “I feel like all we’ve been doing lately is dealing with my bullshit.”

Tony wanted to argue, but since Steve was right, that made it kind of tough. Steve’s lips were puffy from the kissing, the evil, tight t-shirt looking like it had been painted on his body. He’d shaved that morning in anticipation of seeing the Parkers, and his hair was still all neatly parted somehow, which meant he had a bit of that overgrown boy scout thing going on that drove Tony wild. Resisting the offer was going to be difficult.

“I can’t even explain how happy it made me just getting to watch you have a good time tonight,” Steve continued, kissing Tony again, slowly, deeply. “And the more I watched, the more I wanted to drag you off somewhere, and… I don’t know. _Worship_ you, a little.”

Tony’s heart leapt at the words, but he sighed, and rested his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. “That’s sweet, but you really don’t have to do this.”

“What if I _want_ to?” Steve asked, stroking his hand up along the back of Tony’s neck, and squeezing.

“We can wait until we get home,” Tony offered, but his pulse was pounding with urgency.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.”

Steve placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders, and gently put some more space between them, but didn’t leave the stall, since someone had come into the bathroom again. This left Tony staring at Steve, trying to figure out if his sudden streak of exhibitionism was some sort of new symptom. What if Steve was feeling so shitty about his inability to perform earlier in the evening that he was going to extremes to attempt to make it up to Tony? Or maybe the loud music, and the crowd had triggered something? According to Steve, his sexual encounters while in the Army had all been risky, hurried affairs.

The stupid thing was, Tony had plenty of experience with sex in public, and most of those dalliances had involved situations far more shady than what Steve was proposing. In fact, anyone determined enough could still go online and find the old leaked footage of him fucking a supermodel in a hotel elevator. Tony had even had one cop ask for his autograph after someone had walked in on him, his date, and her very male best friend having a bit of fun in a stairwell, and called the police. It felt kind of hypocritical for him to be the one suggesting they behave themselves.

While they waited for the newcomer to finish using the urinal, Tony noticed the way Steve’s eyes were roaming, the flush in his face, how he kept chewing on his lower lip, and staring at Tony like he was an all you can eat buffet. Tony blinked, and realized he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Steve was telling the truth.

Tony swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, and continued to stare at his criminally hot boyfriend. He could still remember the first time he’d put eyes on Steve Rogers, and fallen deeply in lust, never suspecting what the future held for him. Steve was still the most beautiful person Tony had ever seen, moreso now that Tony was in love with him. Maybe it would be good for both of them to indulge in a little something out of the ordinary for the evening, leave the complications behind for a change.

Coming to a decision, Tony straightened himself up, and unbuttoned his fly, not missing the way Steve’s eyes went wide, or the hopeful expression suddenly taking over his face. Those pretty baby blues of Steve's seemed to be asking Tony what had changed his mind; Tony answered with a shrug, unzipping his pants, and crooking a finger at Steve.

A moment later, he had Steve’s tongue back in his mouth, was up close and personal with all that hard muscle. Tony swallowed a moan when Steve lifted him off of the ground so he could spin them around, leaving Tony with the stall door at his back for support. Thankfully, the music was still loud enough in the bathroom to cover the soft, wet sounds of their kissing, or the shuffle of shoes. Tony held onto Steve, and struggled not to give them away when one of Steve’s large, strong hands bypassed Tony's underwear, and wrapped around his cock.

Steve was stroking him slowly, his grip loose, fingers sliding up to trace teasingly across the head of Tony’s cock, making him shudder. He slowed the kiss down as well, pulling back and making Tony chase after his mouth before surging forward again to suck on Tony’s lower lip. Steve pushed his fist down over the head of Tony’s cock, squeezing for a moment as he left a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses along Tony’s jaw.

“Fuck,” Tony gasped softly, unable to help himself when Steve bit down on his neck, right in the spot that never failed to make Tony whimper.

Lips stuttered across his skin on the way up to his ear. “Mm, are you going to be able to keep quiet?” Steve asked, the French not helping Tony’s situation any.

Tony nodded, and bit down on his lower lip while Steve sucked on his earlobe, and pulled his hand free of Tony’s pants. Then Tony had the pleasure of watching Steve lick his own palm, spitting in it for good measure before going back in, and yeah, that was stupidly hot for no reason whatsoever. Steve had worked a bit of space between them so they could look down, and watch him playing with Tony’s cock, and that was even better.

There were voices outside of their stall again, some drunken, enthusiastic conversation taking place about _Ragnarök_ , and it seemed both alarmingly close, and miles away. Tony couldn’t deny how much it was turning him on, the two of them hiding in the stall together, him trying to keep quiet while Steve smiled wickedly at him, and focused almost relentlessly on Tony’s cockhead, getting another tiny whimper out of him.

Tony had been on the receiving end of more than one of Steve’s fast and furious handjobs before, and this was most definitely not a repeat performance. He was watching Tony’s face intently, teasing him playfully, obviously enjoying himself while watching Tony squirm in pleasure, which was a fucking relief. That meant Tony could lose himself to sensation without having to feel guilty about the fact that he was the only one of them who would be getting off that night.

Steve leaned in close, kissed him again, pressing Tony back against the door while his hand kept busy, so Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, and did his best to thrust up into his fist. “I _love_ touching you,” Steve whispered into Tony’s ear. “It still blows my mind every single time that you let me. I’m so fucking lucky.”

Tony grabbed a fistful of Steve’s hair, and used his grip to make Steve kiss him again, the minty taste of toothpaste still lingering in Steve’s mouth. If he’d had anything to drink that evening, it was water, which was a relief, and also incredibly gratifying. Plenty of people had said all sorts of things about Tony while under the influence, but their words had been hollow, meaningless. Steve had his forehead resting against Tony’s, and was staring into his eyes as if he’d rather die than ever look away again.

Slowly, Steve worked Tony’s clothing down until he sprung free from his pants, stroking him again, playing with his balls, tugging on Tony’s cock until he was panting, fingers digging into Steve’s shoulders as he held on for dear life. There was the sound of rushing water, and the door opening and closing, but Tony wasn’t positive they were alone in the room, so he struggled to keep quiet, his breathing sounding too loud to his own ears.

“Every time I think I couldn’t possibly love you any more, somehow I fall deeper,” Steve confessed, letting go of Tony’s cock in order to cradle his face as he said the words softly against Tony’s lips. Steve’s cheeks were pink, his hair a bit messed up from Tony’s fingers, but it was the look in his eyes more than anything else that had Tony feeling like he might start crying. “I can’t believe it’s only been three hundred and twenty one days since the first time I kissed you.”

Tony lost his battle with sound, a desperate, keening noise escaping before they were kissing again. Steve had _run the numbers_ , and Tony didn’t quite know how to cope with that, or the love and adoration shining out of Steve’s eyes. When Steve pulled away, his eyes were bright with tears, but he was smiling wide. “I promise, the next three hundred and twenty one will be better, Tony, and all the ones after that, too,” Steve swore, the flurry of French washing over Tony and making his own eyes tear up. “Meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Fuck, and that wasn’t fair, not at all, because fooling around in a public restroom wasn’t supposed to make you want to cry with happiness. “Me too, Steve,” Tony managed to squeak out, smiling hard enough to make his face hurt.

The door opened again, letting in the wail of guitars, and Tony held his breath as Steve licked his lips, and sank to his knees. Slowly, reverently, Steve dragged those gorgeous lips of his over the head of Tony’s cock, and sucked gently, tongue flicking out in a tease. He pulled away again, and rubbed his smooth, clean shaven cheek against Tony’s hardon, prompting him to shift his legs farther apart, attempting to brace himself against the stall door.

Steve licked, and stroked, and teased at him, sucking on his balls, and staring up at Tony in adoration. Steve was pulling off that mind numbing trick of his, where he managed to look innocent as you please, which was a glorious juxtaposition to what was happening. Slowly, he reached up, and took hold of Tony’s wrists, and moved Tony’s hands to his hair, blinking sweetly as he sucked on the head of his cock again.

That was all the invitation Tony needed. He helped himself to a handful of soft, blond hair, stroked along the side of Steve’s face, thumbing at the hinge of his jaw, then pushed his way inside, head lolling back against the stall door as he struggled to keep quiet. Steve’s mouth was a glorious, wet inferno, and Steve had happily surged forward to gag himself on Tony’s cock, the sound of it downright _filthy_. Tony had lost track, had no idea if they were alone, so he choked back his own noises of pleasure, and watched the show.

Steve sucked cock beautifully, enthusiastically, and confusingly it was even hotter to Tony knowing Steve was getting off on it this much without _actually_ being hard himself. He looked downright blissed out, had taken over again so that he was almost holding Tony upright, while bobbing up and down on his dick, eyelashes fluttering prettily. Again and again, he gazed up at Tony, backing off and slowing down whenever Tony’s legs trembled. It was a beautiful tease, an adoring performance, and Tony lost himself to the sensation.

“Look at you,” he whispered, stroking Steve’s face. Tony thrust raggedly into Steve’s mouth, breath catching as Steve moaned around his dick.

They both paused for a moment, listening intently to try to determine if they were alone or not, then Steve shrugged, and went back to it, taking Tony into the back of his throat, and making him see stars. “Oh, fuck,” Tony gasped, just as the door opened again.

Then, because he was an absolute bastard, Steve slipped a finger into his mouth along with Tony’s cock, getting it slippery, and wet, before sliding it back behind his balls, circling around the sensitive pucker of his asshole. Tony’s cock throbbed appreciatively in Steve’s mouth, and he gazed down in wide-eyed adoration as Steve jerked him off again, sucking on Tony’s balls and watching him intently as Steve slowly, _teasingly_ pushed a finger into Tony’s ass.

Tony couldn’t help himself, he shoved a hand over his mouth, tried to spread his legs even farther apart to make room for Steve, and braced himself with his other hand on Steve’s shoulder, holding on for dear life. He whimpered pathetically, trying to muffle the sound and failing, as Steve stroked him, sucking on the head of Tony’s cock, while wiggling his finger deeper.

There was no way he was going to be able to last, or keep quiet, and Tony spared a moment to plead with the universe that someone he knew wasn’t currently on the other side of the stall door. Steve was grinning up at him, and Tony shook his head, but they both knew he didn’t actually want Steve to stop. As soon as Steve pressed against his prostate, Tony gasped, and watched his cock start to leak, whimpering again as Steve licked away the precome.

Grinning hard enough to hurt his face, Tony made another helpless noise, lost to the sensation of Steve’s finger rubbing relentlessly against that sweet spot. His mouth was back in play, and Steve wasn’t bothering to try to keep quiet anymore, sucking noisily on Tony’s dick instead.

The toilet flushed, the door opened, and over the ruckus, Tony heard the person leaving tell the person heading in, “Fair warning, someone’s getting lucky in there.”

Tony lost control, giggling, which prompted Steve to snort, and they almost lost the plot entirely. Feeling stupidly amused by the entire situation, Tony stroked the top of Steve’s head, and mouthed, “Make me come.”

Steve nodded, fingering Tony’s ass again, while jerking him off with the other hand, his beautiful, swollen lips torturing the head of Tony’s cock. Tony reached up and held onto the bathroom stall with both hands, hanging on for dear life, as his body tensed, and bowed, poised on the edge of orgasm. The sound of their breathing, and the filthy, wonderful things Steve was doing seemed impossibly loud in the bathroom.

Whoever was out there muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Lucky mother fucker.”

There was an appropriately timed crescendo of guitars bleeding through the walls as Tony’s thighs trembled. He was panting loudly, desperately trying to fuck himself on Steve’s finger, or thrust into his mouth, as Steve made him ride the edge until they heard the door open and close again. Then it was a big game over.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony wailed, as Steve hammered his prostate, head bobbing, hand pumping, and that was it, Tony was gone. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Still holding onto the bathroom stall, Tony gazed down in wonder as he pumped into Steve’s mouth, twitching and shaking as he came, and came. Steve was watching him as well, gazing up at Tony reverently, swallowing rapidly. Steve pulled back, milking Tony through the end of his orgasm, slowly wringing every last drop of come from him, licking and sucking Tony clean again, before sliding his finger free from Tony’s ass.

Tony was so blissed out, he wasn’t sure his feet were actually on the ground, had to look down and check. “Holy shit, Steve,” he gasped, laughing a moment later.

Steve scrambled back onto his feet almost awkwardly, and helped Tony get his pants back up, while they kissed, and kissed, both of them snorting, and giggling like absolute idiots. Once Tony was tucked away, Steve pulled him up into an embrace, making a soft, contented noise as they hugged.

“Feeling a bit more relaxed?” he asked, grinning down at Tony.

“Shut the fuck up, you smug bastard,” Tony managed, “that was amazing, and you know it.”

Steve kissed him on the chin, and peered over the stall door. “Guess we have to head back out.”

“Give me a minute,” Tony pleaded, happy to let Steve hold him upright. “I need to get my game face on.” He took a couple deep breaths, then laughed again when he met Steve’s eyes. “We’re so doomed.”

Steve hummed his agreement, and hit the latch on the door, swinging it open and shuffling them out of the stall. Tony braced himself against a wall while he watched Steve wash his hands, admiring the way Steve’s hair was all mussed up, and the puffy, well used look he had around his mouth.

“Yeah, we’re not going to fool anyone,” Tony announced, stretching contentedly.

“I’m okay with that if you are,” Steve answered, drying his hands.

Tony smiled fondly, and ran a hand across Steve’s back. “Very okay.”

Steve took Tony by the hand as they exited the bathroom, leading him back over to the table their group had occupied, opting to stand planted behind him with his hands on Tony’s hips. Clint glanced at them, then did a double take, eyes narrowing. Tony tried and failed not to blush, then burst out laughing when Clint simply applauded.

Bruce had taken Tony’s place down in the crowd with Natasha, so Tony gave Steve a squeeze, nodded in that direction, and headed off to join his friends for the end of the show. Whenever he glanced over his shoulder, he found Steve watching him, smiling to himself, looking like some sort of debauched Prince Charming.

Natasha leaned in close. “Bruce wants to try a new paella recipe tomorrow,” she said. “You in?”

Earlier in the week—hell, earlier in the evening—Tony would have needed a couple minutes of deep consideration, all of it centered around Steve’s needs, rather than his own.

“Very much in. We should make a day of it.”

“Correct answer,” Natasha said, stroking the side of his face and smiling. Tony gave her a kiss on the cheek, then snagged Bruce, and did the same, feeling relaxed, and hopeful, and stupidly proud of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it might be stupid, but I was really excited (no pun intended) to be able to write about Steve dealing with the not-so-fun (but very common) side effects of medication. We'll have more on this in the next chapter, because it isn't always an easy adjustment to make. He'll get his groove back eventually, but in the meantime, it is at least good to see that in the midst of feeling pretty low, he is able to recognize how worn down Tony has become, and want to do something about that. Again, more on that in the next chapter.
> 
> Also also, I hope you'll all forgive me for indulging in the idea of Sif wearing _Fever Ray_ -esque makeup, and rocking it out on stage with Thor. I've maybe known people who have performed in these sorts of places, in full get up, and maybe it is too easy for me to imagine the Valhalla shop crew doing this in their free time. ;D


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In many ways, Steve is still _carrying that weight_. Despite everything he's dealing with, he's still determined to put Tony first, and so he begins taking steps to return to something approaching normalcy. Unfortunately, reality has a way of keeping you down, especially when you find yourself confronted with the ways in which your behavior has eroded away at your relationships.

The bell chimed pleasantly as Steve pushed his way into SHIELD Tattoo, the sound setting his teeth on edge. Once upon a time, he’d liked the ringing, but now it tended to make him think of Tony in tears. If it wouldn’t have made him look like a total maniac to everyone already inside the shop, Steve would have reached up and ripped the bell off the wall. Instead, he slid a hand into his breast pocket, and tugged out a notebook and pen he’d taken to keeping there, scribbled ‘bell over shop door,’ and tucked the notebook away again before heading deeper into the shop.

“Yo, Cap,” Clint called, pausing in his work to throw a crisp salute Steve's direction. “Thought I saw you on the schedule. Welcome back.”

Steve dug up a smile, and spared a nod for the woman Clint was currently tattooing. “Thanks, Clint. Is Natasha here yet?”

Clicking off the gun, Clint stared at Steve for an unnecessarily long time, as if trying to figure out his motives for asking. Feeling more and more at a loss, Steve raised his eyebrows, and looked around, as if Natasha might be there in the room with him, hiding in plain sight.

“In the office,” Clint finally answered, ducking his head and getting back to work.

Steve stared at the top of Clint’s head for a moment, then headed for the back of the shop, stomach flopping uncomfortably as he went. Obviously, something was going on, and from his behavior, Clint seemed to think this was something Steve should already be aware of. The fact that he was drawing a blank didn’t comfort him in the least.

Sure enough, when he knocked and opened the door, Natasha was camped out in his chair, tapping away on the keyboard of the shop’s computer.

“Hey, Tasha.”

Instead of acknowledging him, Natasha opted to finish up whatever she was doing, which meant Steve was left standing there, wondering what was going on. Natasha somehow made her keystrokes look more like she was playing something on a piano than typing. The big finale for her performance was some graceful mouse clicking as she pushed her way out from behind the desk.

“I closed out the month for you,” Natasha announced, not looking up. “The shop is in good shape for you to resume your managerial duties.”

Steve blinked a few times, uncertain in the face of her body language, and brusque tone of voice. ”Thank you. I really appreciate you stepping up while I was out.”

One of Natasha’s shoulders ticked up in the tiniest of shrugs as she gathered up her phone, jacket, and coffee, and proceeded to sweep past him, clearly intending to leave the office.

“Um, hey, wait, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Natasha stopped, and turned to face him, her eyes icy as she folded her arms across her chest. “Is this a personal or professional conversation?”

Steve’s heart plummeted into his shoes. “Personal.”

“Well, then,” Natasha said, smiling sweetly, which was never a good sign, “the answer is no.”

The look in her eyes was a challenge, as if she was daring Steve to open his mouth and attempt to have the conversation anyway. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he nodded, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Is there another time you’d be willing to talk?”

Natasha tipped her head to the side, as if listening to something only she could hear. “No, I don’t think so.” Another sharp, sweet smile was aimed at Steve. “I’ll let you know when I change my mind.”

Feeling a bit like Natasha had punched him in the stomach, Steve nodded, and watched her stalk out of the office. Once she was gone, he sat heavily in the seat she had vacated. Steve’s hands were shaking when he pulled his notebook back out, and simply wrote Natasha’s name, underlining it several times.

“That went well,” Steve muttered to himself, rubbing his temples.

Steve hadn't seen much of Natasha since the morning of his big meltdown. Of course, he'd been preoccupied with therapy, group meetings, and spending as much time as possible with Tony and Peter. The vibe when seeing her and Bruce at the _Ragnarok_ show had been odd, but not necessarily worrisome. It was hard to talk in a place that loud, and Steve had been so happy to see Tony enjoying himself with friends that the idea of intruding upon their little huddle hadn't even occurred to Steve.

Now, it was painfully obvious that Natasha was pissed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. She'd warned him to take care with Tony's heart. The man in question might have been able to forgive Steve for what had happened, but apparently Natasha was a different story.

Unfortunately, there was nothing Steve could do at the moment to smooth things over between them, so he grabbed his phone, and moved on to his next task for the day.

“Who is this?”

Steve fidgeted in his seat. “It's Steve Rogers,” he explained. “Sorry to bother you, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper inhaled sharply. “Oh my god, is Tony okay?”

“Yes, he's fine,” Steve assured her, hanging his head. It wasn’t as if he and Pepper had chatted on the phone before; he probably should have expected her to assume the worst. “Nothing bad happened, I promise.”

“You're _sure_?” Pepper asked, sounding as if she didn't believe him.

“This is about Tony’s birthday,” Steve explained, hoping some context would put Pepper’s mind at ease.

“Oh,” Pepper sighed, then presumably covered the phone with her hand for a moment. Steve heard muffled instructions being relayed to someone before Pepper got back on the line. “Did you need help picking out a present?”

“No, actually, ah, that's the thing. I realize this is short notice, and Tony has told me about how busy you are, but,” Steve rubbed at the side of his head, wishing he could push away the headache. Maybe then he'd be able to have a goddamned conversation like a normal person. “Well, the truth is, Ms. Potts, I know how much Tony misses you and the Lieutenant Colonel, and it seems to me that the best birthday gift anyone could give Tony would be getting to see one or the both of you. Especially if it was a surprise.”

It was quiet for a moment, but then Steve heard what could only be described as a sniffle. “Steve Rogers, that is _incredibly_ sweet. You’re a good boyfriend.”

Although it certainly wasn’t her intention, Pepper’s words felt a little like a slap to the face, especially coming as they did on the heels of Natasha’s cold welcome.

“I don't know about that, ma'am, but I do know how much Tony loves you,” Steve answered. “I understand with your schedule it's probably a long shot, but we’re having a sort of family dinner for Tony on Sunday, and if there's any chance you could come—”

“Hang on,” Pepper instructed, and Steve did as ordered, doodling on a notepad as he waited. “Okay! I think I can make this work. Is this your cell?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pepper snorted. “Okay, for a start, you need to knock that off immediately. It's _Pepper_ , Steve, not Ms. Potts or _ma’am_. Text me the specifics. Did you talk to James yet?”

“Actually, I was hoping you might be willing to share the number,” Steve answered. “I know his situation is trickier—”

“He'll do his best to make it,” Pepper interrupted. “Sending you the number now. I'm sorry to cut this short, but…”

“No, of course, I understand. Thanks, Pepper.”

Steve didn't have a chance to wish her a nice day, as Pepper had cut the call, but he didn't take it personally. When he'd come up with the idea, Steve hadn't been certain the number Pepper had used way back when setting up Tony's consultation would still work. That he was able to get ahold of her at all was a tick for the win column.

Rhodes was a different story. Steve opted to send a text with the details, since he wasn't positive where Rhodes was currently stationed. Tony had mentioned something about the Lieutenant Colonel potentially coming back stateside, but that was the extent of Steve’s information.

With a sigh, Steve sat back in his seat, and stared across the room at the framed photo of Clint, Natasha, and himself posing with the sign for SHIELD Tattoo the day it went up on the building. He hadn’t necessarily been what one could classify as _happy_ when the photo was taken, but Steve remembered enjoying a sense of relief, feeling for the first time as if the business was actually becoming a reality. Opening a tattoo shop hadn’t been anything Steve had ever imagined himself doing, but after coming home…

The reasons were selfish, really. Steve hadn’t been able to cope with the idea of them all going their separate ways, had wanted to know where they were in the world, and how they were doing. That they were safe. Sure, Hawkeye would have stuck around because Bucky was in New York, but there was always the chance that Clint would seek employment and adventure elsewhere, and take Bucky with him. The shop was a way for Steve to give his soldiers something to call their own, but it also increased the odds of keeping what was left of his military family together.

The idea of leaving the office, and dealing with an icy Natasha had Steve's stomach in knots. If he took a moment to think it through, Steve could convince himself that with enough time, she would forgive him, and he’d have his right hand person back, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. For _years_ Steve had known that Natasha had his back, be that in the midst of a firefight, or during a busy Friday night in the shop. Steve had hers, as well, had opened his door in the middle of the night many a time, and swept a bleary eyed Natasha inside, the two of them watching something stupid together and not talking about why it was neither of them could sleep.

And now, he’d gone and ruined that.

It was tempting to call Tony, if only to hear his voice, calm himself down, but Natasha was Tony's friend, too. The last thing Steve wanted to do was put Tony in an awkward situation. Well. More of one. Besides, he needed to learn to deal with his problems without dragging Tony into the middle of them.

Steve was exhausted. Considering he'd felt that way before everything had gone off the rails, it was strange to find there were even greater depths of exhaustion left for him to experience. As far as Steve could tell, the antidepressants hadn't done much of anything aside from give him side effects. Regardless of the amount of sleep he got, Steve still felt foggy, and had the mother of all headaches. If that was the extent of it, he might not have minded so much, but he already felt like shit about himself. He didn’t need to add impotence to his already lengthy list of reasons why Tony would be better off without him.

And _therapy_ …

Well, even if Steve could now recognize how much he _needed_ to be there, that didn't change the reality of the thing. Steve had no complaints about the doctor Bucky and Sam had found for him, and he understood the principles behind the therapeutic approach Dr. Coulson was taking, but that didn’t make it any easier. Yes, the only way out was _through_ , but Steve hadn't cried so much in his entire life, not even back when he was a kid. Crying had always made it hard to breathe, set off his asthma, which had been pretty good incentive to avoid it altogether. Steve knew from firsthand experience that if you worked at it, you could almost entirely break yourself of the habit. Even when he’d been bullied in the orphanage, or in school, Steve had never given the bigger kids the satisfaction of making him cry.

According to Dr. Coulson, tears served a purpose. He’d pointed out that not having a safe outlet for his emotions probably hadn't helped Steve in the long run. It was hard to argue with that logic, all things considered, but now it was as if Steve was making up for lost time.

Usually, it started during therapy, and followed him throughout the rest of his day, little things setting him off, or his mind wandering back over the topics they’d discussed. If Peter was around, Steve was able to keep a lid on things, but if Peter was still at school, or off somewhere with Tony, Steve tended to wind up sobbing face down in his bed until the storm had passed. Admittedly, there was something liberating about it all at first, but at this point, Steve was ready for things to go back to the way they were.

The strangest part of it all was finding himself crying even when he wasn’t sad. Usually, this involved Tony and Peter, and witnessing some aspect of their burgeoning relationship. Steve had always suspected Tony would be a wonderful father, but hadn’t anticipated the impact it would have on him, seeing it in action. Peter gravitated to Tony—which was understandable, given all the ways in which the two of them connected—and he’d always expected that to hurt, but instead Steve felt like it was the only thing keeping him on his feet and fighting.

It was little things, like watching Peter’s eyes go wide with wonder while the two of them chatted, seeing their heads bent together over a project, or witnessing the return of Tony’s full body laugh as he and Peter goofed around. Just the other night, Steve had come home from group to find Tony and Peter had fallen asleep curled up together on the couch, and it had left him feeling so grateful and overjoyed that Steve had snuck into the bathroom, and bawled like a baby.

Tony had witnessed a good number of his crying jags, especially during that first week, but the more time passed, the worse Steve felt about burdening Tony. He'd already done so much, made so many fucking compromises on Steve's behalf, that the entire arrangement felt fundamentally unfair. Tony deserved so much better than what Steve had to offer him, something Steve reminded himself of whenever therapy was especially grueling, and he felt like never going back again. All of the pain and suffering was worth it as long as it got Steve to a place where he could finally _be_ that person Tony deserved.

Even though it had left him feeling like absolute shit about himself, Steve’s inability to get an erection the first time he and Tony had attempted to take advantage of having some alone time together had at least been an eye opening experience. Whether he was aware it had happened or not, Tony had let his mask slip, and Steve had suddenly been able to see just how exhausted _Tony_ was. It shouldn’t have been surprising; Tony had wholeheartedly thrown himself into the middle of Steve’s crisis, offering support, and a willing ear, and Steve had trusted him to remember to prioritize himself in the midst of all that. Now Steve suspected that he shouldn’t have done that at all.

Well, if Tony wasn’t going to make himself a priority, then Steve sure as hell was. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed to push everything else aside that night, and get Tony to go out and do something that had nothing to do with Steve, or his mental health, and everything to do with fun.

With the crowds and the noise, Steve had fully expected to be on edge while seeing _Ragnarok_ play, but instead he’d found having the opportunity to watch Tony actually relax and have a good time had been worlds better for his mood than any pill, or therapy session. And while Steve certainly hadn’t planned on anything physical happening that night, he had no regrets as far as their impromptu encounter in the men’s room was concerned.

That night, Steve had come to a decision, which was to unburden Tony as much as possible going forward. Steve had a therapist now, his group meetings, and had finally taken his friends and family up on their offers of help. Tony deserved a break, should feel cared for, and be able to _enjoy_ himself when with Steve and Peter, or even be comfortable spending time away from them so he could focus on himself more.

Steve had no intention of going back on his promises. If Tony asked how he was doing, he’d answer honestly, and if Steve really needed the help, he’d open his mouth and say so. He’d continue to share, and connect—that was the whole point of together, after all—but Steve was determined to find a better balance between them. He wanted to be strong enough that Tony felt comfortable putting some of his weight on Steve’s shoulders for a change, but until he’d proven himself capable, he’d need to settle for doing whatever else he could to make life a little brighter for Tony.

Tony's approaching birthday had seemed like the perfect opportunity to shift the focus off of himself, and inject some fun back into Tony's life. Peter had strong opinions about the two of them baking Tony a cake, and was already hard at work on a present, but Steve had struggled with his own gift until the Pepper and Rhodes idea came to mind. Steve had been hoping to run his plan past Natasha, see what she thought, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.

Tony's birthday was still a week away, so leading up to it Steve continued his Prioritize Tony plan, the next phase of which constituted a return to normalcy. Steve was hopeful that heading back to work would help put Tony’s mind at ease, take some of the pressure off of him, while simultaneously helping Steve feel a bit better about his place in their relationship.

As a rule, Steve hated idle time, and found that having something to do after a therapy session made it much easier to keep his emotions in check, easier to process in general. So, as it stood, his day would start much as it always had—with him dropping Peter off at preschool—but once a week he’d follow this up with a trip to see Dr. Coulson instead of going to the gym, or out for a run.

Then there were the group sessions. They happened with greater frequency, so Steve had the option of going more or less, depending upon his state of mind, or changing when he attended, if need be. Going weekly seemed appropriate, and he’d opted to keep one meeting scheduled for the morning, and one for the evening later on in the week. This had the added bonus of allowing Tony and Peter a night alone together, where they could relax, or nerd out to their heart’s content without having to worry about Steve getting in the way. And if Tony was busy, or didn’t feel like babysitting, that was fine. Steve could swap it out for another morning session, or ask someone else to watch Peter.

With Steve heading back to work, Tony no longer had an excuse not to do the same. It had been painfully obvious to Steve that Tony missed spending his days in R&D, but Steve hadn’t had any luck convincing Tony to head back. Not while he was home by himself, adjusting to the medication, and therapy, and having crying jags. So, whether he was ready or not, Steve was back out in the world, getting on with it already, which meant that Tony was over at SI for the first time in weeks.

At least the way he’d set up his schedule meant Steve’s weekends were free, in case they all wanted to do something fun together as a family. Or, if Peter was with his aunt and uncle, it left him and Tony time to be alone together, if Tony wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Of course, that might mean Tony spending the night, which was something that hadn’t happened without Peter being around. Steve was admittedly terrified he was going to wake up outside again, with no idea how they’d gotten there, left to watch in horror as his world came crashing down around him; although he hadn’t said as much, Steve assumed Tony was worried about the same thing.

It made Steve unspeakably sad, as he’d always loved falling asleep with Tony tucked safely under his arm, being able to breathe him in as he drifted away. Waking up was even better, because he could lie in bed, and lose himself to watching the steady rise and fall of Tony’s chest, marveling at the soft slackness in his jaw, or the sweep and flutter of his dark lashes as he dreamed.

When they’d had their sleepover with Peter, Steve had been almost unbearably happy upon awakening. Having breakfast together like a family was almost enough to make him believe everything was okay. Except, it hadn’t happened again. Tony rather diligently made a point of offering an unnecessary excuse for leaving before Steve could suggest he stay.

It hadn't become painfully obvious that there was a problem until the night of the _Ragnarök_ show; they'd gotten back late, and Steve had expected Tony to crash at his place, so he'd been more than a little surprised when a sheepish Tony gave him a kiss goodnight, and headed for his car instead, promising to text when he arrived home safely.

Steve was fully aware that there was no one to blame for the current situation but himself. He’d tried a few times now to talk to Tony about what had transpired during the morning of his breakdown, only to have the conversation carefully steered in other directions. Steve wasn’t really comfortable putting his foot down, and insisting they talk about it when Tony obviously wasn’t ready yet, but at the same time, Tony was the only one who knew what had happened. It wasn’t like Steve had options, and he’d reached a point where he was almost obsessing over the unknowns of that morning.

The bell over the front door of the shop rang, dragging him from his thoughts, and with a sigh, Steve looked at his watch, and psyched himself up to head out. He needed to prep his station before his first appointment of the day arrived, and it wasn’t like hiding in the office was going to solve anything between him and Natasha. The best course of action was to respect Natasha’s wishes, and only interact with her in a professional capacity, while trying not to make things incredibly awkward for Clint.

“Anyone mind if I put on some music?” he asked after walking out into the relative quiet of the shop.

Steve half expected Natasha to object just to be contrary, but instead she chimed in along with Clint, giving her permission. Counting that as a victory, Steve popped on an album he knew Natasha liked, and then got to work. Station prep was like a ritual to him, the familiarity of the routine comforting, so that by the time his client showed up, he was able to greet them with a genuine easy smile.

There were times when Steve got down on himself over his profession, feeling he should be doing _more_ , making a difference somehow, but when the tattoo machine was in his hand, it was nothing but satisfaction. The comforting weight variations between his liner and shader, the smell of the disinfectants and the ink itself, the sound and vibrations. Steve almost always found himself experiencing a sense of connection with the person he was tattooing, something he seldom enjoyed when out and about in the world; normally, society made him feel like there had been some sort of colossal mix up, and he’d been born in entirely the wrong era.

About an hour into the piece he was working on, Steve knew he’d made the right decision by going back to work. The only thing missing was the easy banter he and Clint normally shared with Natasha. Clint did his best to keep the conversation going over the course of the morning, but if Steve joined in, Natasha went quiet, so he stopped participating.

As soon as Natasha headed out to pick up lunch for her and Clint—Steve had very pointedly been left out of that conversation, as well—Clint wandered over, and draped himself across the dividing wall of Steve’s station.

“Sorry, man. I can share my sandwich if you want?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ve got an hour before my next appointment. I’ll go upstairs so you two can have the place to yourselves.”

“Aww, Steve,” Clint whined, flopping theatrically, “you’re making me sad.”

Even though Clint’s tone was somewhat teasing, when Steve looked up, he was surprised to see there was some truth to the words. “Hey, it’s okay, really. She… She probably _should_ be mad at me. Someone should, at least.”

“No, see, ‘cuz you’re doing the kicked puppy face, only you’re kicking yourself,” Clint said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It was left sticking up crazily on one side by the time he was done. “I don’t like it. We’re family, it ain’t right.”

“Natasha gave me a whole shovel talk the last time I fucked up with Tony,” Steve explained. “I disappointed her, and hurt her friend in the process. Then I ignored her advice about Peter and Tony when all of that was happening, and… I don’t know, Clint. Family’s all well and good, but that shouldn’t give me a free pass to treat the people I love like they don’t matter.”

“Yeah, but c’mon! It isn’t like you woke up that morning all, ‘Oh, I think I’ll try to make Tony cry today,’ or something. You couldn’t _see_ yourself, Steve,” Clint argued. “Anyone expectin’ you to behave rationally while in that state of mind has got to get right with reality, man.”

Steve shrugged. He understood where Clint was coming from, but at the same time, felt very strongly that he should be held accountable for his actions, no matter _what_ state he was in.

“I talked to Tony while you were in the back with Bucky,” Clint added after a moment. “The rest of them might’ve thought you were exaggerating, but Tony was absolutely ready to get on the first plane to splitsville. You made the right call with him and Peter.”

Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat, and tried not to panic over the idea of Tony disappearing on him. “But it _shouldn’t_ have been. Natasha was right—same with you and Bucky—throwing Peter into the middle of that was a mistake. I didn’t see it that way at the time, but Tony called me a manipulative bastard, and he was right, too. Just because it worked out to my advantage doesn’t change the fact that I never should have done it in the first place.”

Clint pulled a face, but didn’t argue, which told Steve all he needed to know.

“Look, I appreciate the way you and Bucky stood by me in this, and I’m especially grateful for everything you did to support Tony before and after my breakdown,” Steve said, tugging on his jacket, “but as much as it hurts to be on the receiving end of things, I’m proud of Natasha. All I can do now is put in the work, and try to earn back her friendship.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Clint muttered. “You guys gotta behave at the wedding, though. Don’t make me go all Bridezilla, ‘cuz I’ll bring it if I have to. All photos must feature smiles, and arms around shoulders and shit.”

“Cross my heart,” Steve laughed, the smile lingering on his face despite how heavy his heart was feeling. “Hey, before I head up, Peter and I are having a sort of birthday party for Tony this Sunday. I was hoping you and Bucky would come.”

Clint perked up at this. “Hells yeah. Want us to bring anything? Other than our roguish good looks, I mean. That comes standard.”

Steve knocked his shoulder against Clint’s as he passed him on the way out. “I’ve got everything covered. I’ll be upstairs if you need me for anything.”

Clint drummed along Steve’s back, sending him on his way. His mood improved when he checked his phone, and found a message from Rhodes waiting for him. Apparently, the Lieutenant Colonel had already planned to sneak back for Tony’s birthday, but was happy to adjust his plans so his arrival would coincide with Pepper’s. Knowing they’d both be in attendance for Tony’s party was a relief, and meant Steve could focus on other preparations.

Sitting there alone, eating his lunch in the quiet, empty apartment, Steve ran back over his conversation with Clint, until his nerves were on edge. Knowing how close he’d come to having Tony walk out of his life forever wasn’t a good feeling. It prompted Steve to take out his phone again, and start flipping through his photos, Tony and Peter’s smiling faces helping him calm back down. Whatever Tony had or hadn’t been planning to do, the reality was he’d given Steve another chance; he wasn’t about to let his insecurities make a mess of things now, not after everything he’d put Tony through.

Steve was so wrapped up in the photos that he jumped in surprise when his phone vibrated in his hand, the screen flashing to show him Tony was calling.

“Hey,” he answered, “I was just thinking about you.”

There were strange noises in the background, and Steve spared a moment to wonder where Tony was calling from. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm hmm. How’s the first day back going?”

“Uh, _awesome_ , actually,” Tony said, but there was something off in his voice. “But, um, I might have forgotten about a few deadlines I’ve got coming up? I’m going to need to put in some serious overtime this week, because I’m figuratively buried alive in projects.”

Steve tried his best to shove aside the guilt flaring up in his chest. Even though it felt like it was his fault, he’d tried to get Tony to go back to work. Whether his choice to push things off was a good one or bad, at the end of the day it had still been Tony’s decision.

“I’m sorry, that sucks,” Steve said.

“Sure, I guess,” Tony agreed halfheartedly. “Weirdly, I kind of like working against the clock like this. Something about the coffee fueled, sleep deprived headspace I get into is sort of rad. Some of my best work has been born of procrastination induced desperation.”

Steve smiled at this, mostly because he could hear the excitement in Tony’s voice. “I’d offer to help, but,” Steve chuckled. “I’m worthless in a lab environment, but I _do_ give a mean shoulder rub.”

“Mm, that sounds nice,” Tony sighed wistfully. When he spoke again, Steve could hear the guilt in his voice. “I know we were supposed to see each other tonight, but—”

“It’s okay,” Steve interrupted. “You’re overdue for a marathon working session, right?”

Tony made a noise that was either meant to indicate his agreement, or frustration. “Yeah, I guess.” The background noise shifted, and then softened significantly, leaving Steve to think Tony had taken himself somewhere more private. “I’m gonna miss you, though. Both of you.”

It was stupid how much better hearing the words made Steve feel. “How about we swing by tonight, bring you some dinner?” Steve offered hopefully. “We can keep the visit short, maybe a half hour or so.”

“I feel bad making you head out to Manhattan for a half hour,” Tony answered, sounding a lot like he wanted to say yes.

“Tony, come on, you’ve been hoofing it out to Brooklyn for weeks now,” Steve pointed out. “I totally understand if you can’t afford to take the break, but I’m more than happy to make the trip.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Positive. It means I’ll get to feed you, _and_ give you that shoulder rub. Sounds like a win win to me.”

Tony made a happy noise. “Good, then absolutely yes, please come see me, so I don’t go through Steve withdrawal.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Steve asked, heart thumping happily in his chest. “How about six?”

“Sounds perfect,” Tony agreed. “So, ah, what’re you wearing?”

“Assless chaps, a cowboy hat, and a smile,” Steve answered, his smile growing as he heard Tony start cackling on the other end of the line.

“So, the usual then?”

“Exactly,” Steve said, still smiling. “Sorry, were you actually trying to instigate phone sex on your lunch break?”

“No, just being a wiseass,” Tony answered, the edge to his voice long gone. Steve heard him sigh, then Tony added, “My day is officially a thousand times better now that I know I get to see you tonight.”

“Same here. I was looking at photos of you and Peter on my phone when you called, and scared the shit out of me.”

Tony laughed, bright and clear. “Seriously?”

“Yup. What can I say, you’ve turned me into a sap.”

“Good,” Tony said, “at least I’m not the only one. I swear, I used to be some kind of suave playboy type. You’ve ruined me for anyone else, Rogers.”

“I’d apologize, except I want you all for myself, so…” Steve traced the woodgrain in the table top with a finger, smiling to himself. “Guess I should let you get back to it?”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony agreed, but he sounded as reluctant to hang up as Steve was. “Six o’clock feels very far away at the moment.”

“I love you,” Steve said, squeezing his eyes shut, and thinking of Tony in his arms.

“Love you, too,” Tony answered. “Okay. Once more unto the breach. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

Steve sat at his table for longer than he should have, staring at a photo of Tony, and feeling dangerously happy. It was insane how just hearing Tony’s voice could make him feel like he’d had his batteries recharged. So, Steve carried the happiness back downstairs with him, used it to propel him through the remaining hours of his shift. More than once he had to bite his tongue, catching himself about to chime in on Natasha and Clint’s conversation as would have been normal; each time, when the sadness and guilt left him feeling as if his legs had been taken out from under him, Steve replayed his conversation with Tony, and got through the discomfort.

Once he’d cleaned up after his last appointment, Steve shared a nod with Clint, and left quietly, struggling with a sense of melancholy. Unfortunately, Peter’s reaction upon seeing his dad there to pick him up didn’t help Steve’s mood any.

“Where’s Tony?” Peter asked immediately, his little face scrunched up in confusion.

“He’s still at work,” Steve explained, doing his best not to laugh over the level of effrontery Peter managed to pack into one question. “Can I have a hug?”

Peter nodded, and squeezed Steve with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “When will he be done?”

It wasn’t precisely a whine, but close enough to make Steve’s already aching head throb in protest. “Not until late. Tony has spent a _lot_ of time keeping us company, and now he has to make up for all the work he missed.”

Based on his slumped shoulders and pout, Peter didn’t seem to like this answer very much. With a sigh, Steve ruffled Peter’s hair, and walked him to the car, struggling not to let his own spirits sink. Typically, picking Peter up was his favorite time of day, his son’s enthusiastic greeting filling Steve's heart to bursting with love. He'd always known that phase wouldn't last forever, but had expected to have a couple more years at least.

“I know. I miss him, too,” Steve admitted as he helped Peter into his car seat. “We’re going to head over to Tony’s work tonight to bring him dinner, though, so maybe you’ll get to see his workshop if you ask real nice.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at this, a smile creeping across his face. “Can we bring him cookies?”

Steve smiled back. “I think that can be arranged.”

Once they were on their way, Peter perked up, happily providing a recap of his day, which was a relief. Steve wasn't fooling himself—at some point, Peter was going to want to know why Tony couldn't simply live with them, the way Bucky and Clint lived together. Steve wasn't ready for that particular conversation, and as soon as he had the opportunity, he added ‘cohabitation’ to the growing list of topics for discussion in his therapy notebook.

Under different circumstances, Steve would quite happily ask Tony if living together was something he might want to do. Even the idea of it made Steve's heart beat faster, and not from panic, either. It was the sort of future he desperately wanted—the three of them becoming a real family—but even he could recognize that it was too soon. If Tony wasn't even comfortable spending the night, moving in together was kind of a ridiculous proposition. Besides, Steve wanted more therapy under his belt before he went and shook things up to such an extent.

Still… it was nice to dream. He had to imagine that if it ever happened, Tony would have an onsite workshop, making it that much easier when he wanted to get in a marathon working session. Steve had spent some time in the shop while Tony was absorbed in a project, and had found it fascinating as well as compelling. Being able to pop down to deliver a cup of coffee, and maybe sketch on the couch for a bit—spending time there with Tony, without feeling like he was intruding—sounded pretty great.

Stupidly domestic scenarios played through Steve's head as he fed Peter, and whipped up Tony's dinner, along with a batch of cookies. All of them having breakfast together, spending a lazy day watching movies, or playing games. Tony falling into bed beside him after finishing a project. Maybe they’d blow Peter’s mind, and actually adopt a dog, just to make the family complete. A simple, wonderful shared life, where Tony felt loved and cared for every day, and never had to worry about Steve, and his long list of issues.

It was almost enough to make Steve start crying, because in so many ways, it felt _impossible_. But the truth was, he and Peter _could_ have a life with Tony. Hell, they already had one, and as long as Steve kept at it, chances were they could all build a beautiful future together. He'd pulled back the curtain, shown Tony how messy and awful it was in his head, and instead of running for the hills, Tony had helped Steve back onto his feet, and given him a reason to fight. And not just any reason, but the very best reason of them all; love.

“I know you miss Tony, and there's nothing wrong with that,” Steve told Peter as they rode in the elevator together after arriving at SI, “but we should try our best not to make Tony feel bad for having to work, too.”

Peter squeezed Steve's hand a little tighter, and nodded. “Science is pretty important.”

“You're important, too,” Steve said. “Especially to Tony. He loves getting to spend time with you.”

“I love Tony,” Peter declared, his expression surprisingly fierce for a five-year-old.

“Me too.”

The elevator doors slid open, and unsurprisingly, the man in question was standing there waiting for them, his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels.

“Tony!” Peter squealed, taking off running.

Steve watched Tony receive the sort of greeting he'd been hoping for earlier in the day, too happy to be jealous. Tony's face lit up with joy as he crouched down to catch Peter in a hug, grinning his handsome face off in the process.

“Ohh, that’s what I needed,” Tony said, squeezing Peter. “I knew I was missing something. Peter hugs. It all makes sense now.”

Peter giggled, while Steve hung back, giving them a moment, thoughts drifting as he waited. He was staring down at his shoes, gently swinging the bag of food he’d prepared, the sense of melancholy rising back up again.

“Steve?”

Blinking and feeling as if he’d been caught doing something wrong, Steve looked up and found Tony standing in front of him, smiling almost shyly. “My turn?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Tony answered after a moment, sounding far too serious. “Come here.”

Steve did as instructed, pausing to set the food down so he’d have both of his arms free. Tony pulled him in close, wrapping himself tightly around Steve, nuzzling his neck, and humming contentedly. Almost immediately, Steve felt significantly better, held on tight, shifting his grip again and again so as to better press them together.

“Yup, definitely needed this, too,” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss beneath Steve’s ear. “Sign me up for all the Steve hugs I can get.”

Shifting so that he could cup Tony’s face in his hands, Steve returned the kiss, then helped himself to another, lips brushing against Tony’s until he was smiling too dopily to effectively kiss. “Thanks for letting us stop by,” Steve said, leaning over to snag the food. “Peter advocated on your behalf, so there might be cookies in there, too.”

“What? That’s some quality work, Peter,” Tony said, offering his hand for a high five. “I’ve made sure nothing is explodable, if you want to just eat in the shop?”

“Sounds good. I’m sure Peter doesn’t mind having to see your workshop.”

Peter was standing with his mouth open, and his eyes wide. “Can we? Are there robots? Is Bruce here?”

Steve’s stomach gave a nervous little flipflop. Bruce was very much on Team Natasha, and was one of Tony’s closest friends. Based on how his day had gone, Steve was willing to put money on Bruce not wanting him around at the moment. For whatever reason, it hadn’t occurred to Steve that Bruce might also be working late, and that their visit could have an audience. A disapproving one at that.

“Alas, my Brucie-bear has abandoned me,” Tony said, pressing a hand across his heart theatrically before taking Peter by the hand. “Or, he went out for dinner with your Aunt Natasha. He’s not a delinquent like I am, you see, and so all of his projects are on schedule. Learn from my mistakes, Petey, and don’t procrastinate.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed easily, prompting Tony to laugh. Tony reached back with his other hand, and looked over his shoulder, smiling invitingly, then blowing Steve a kiss once he’d accepted the offered appendage. “I was thinking of an invention, Tony.”

“An invention, hmm,” Tony murmured, tugging Steve along. “Be prepared to give me all the juicy details while I inhale whatever your dad was nice enough to make for me.”

By the time they made it into the workshop, Steve was smiling like an idiot, the melancholy nowhere to be found. He settled down onto the couch, and helped himself to a cookie while Peter all but shouted with excitement to find his artwork was proudly displayed right there in the heart of Tony’s world.

“Daddy, did you _see_?” Peter asked, running over to Steve to jump up and down in front of him.

“I did,” Steve answered, happily accepting the excited hug Peter gave him before running back over to Tony. “Don’t forget, Tony still needs to eat.”

“Yes, calories, very important for thinking big thoughts, kiddo,” Tony said.

Thankfully, Peter didn’t decide to act up, opting instead to scamper after Tony without a single complaint. Really, Steve couldn’t have asked for a better behaved kid; sometimes Peter was so good it made Steve think there might be something wrong. He and Bucky were by no means bad kids, but they’d still seemed to find trouble wherever they went when they were growing up.

Now that he’d had the opportunity to see Tony and Peter spending time together, Steve had begun to rethink some of Peter’s behavior. He’d always known his son was bright, but Steve was also aware that most parents thought their children were special. Not that they weren’t, of course, all children were, it was only… well, in this case, special might indicate significantly gifted. And if that was the case, then Steve couldn’t help but be relieved that Tony was now part of Peter’s life.

It made Steve slightly uncomfortable, thinking about everything Tony had to offer Peter, especially since Steve could work himself to death for the rest of his life and still not come close to measuring up. It wasn't the money as much as it was Tony's intellect, or his wonderful, supportive approach to challenging Peter in ways Steve hadn't realized the boy needed. Tony’s intuition, and empathy, his emotional and psychological stability, or his warmth, and inherent _goodness_ —hell, he even looked like he could be Peter’s biological father.

Taking a deep breath, Steve tried to process the sensation, rather than shoving it away as hard as he possibly could. Logically, he knew how much Peter loved him, that in a lot of ways he idolized his adoptive father. That made Steve far more uncomfortable than Peter’s newfound connection with Tony. So, chances were, the entire thing was more about him feeling like shit about himself than anything else. Steve had never thought of himself as having self-esteem issues until therapy, but once Dr. Coulson pointed out his tendency to devalue himself, Steve had started trying to picking up on the bad habit in action.

“This sandwich is a thing of beauty,” Tony said gleefully as he tucked in. “Tastes even better than it looks,” he added, setting a good example by chewing and swallowing before talking. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Thanks, daddy,” Peter added. Steve and Tony looked at him, and Peter grinned. “Daddy drove us here so I could see you!”

Tony tapped his temple, then pointed at Peter, nodding. “Sound logic, my adorable friend. Dad does all sorts of nice things for us, doesn’t he?”

“All the time,” Peter agreed.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said, feeling a strange mix of grateful, and uncomfortable. There he went again, thinking himself undeserving of a little gratitude, as if he needed to be punished instead.

Steve slipped the notebook out of his pocket, scribbled away, and looked up to find Tony watching him with the oddest expression on his face. Steve shrugged, and waved the notebook in the air before it went back in his pocket.

“If I write things down, it feels like I’ve got some sort of control over all of this,” he explained in French. “I can obsess a little less, knowing I won’t forget to discuss something with Dr. Coulson. We thought it’d help me notice, um, patterns, I guess. Spent too long trying not to think about painful things, or _feel_ , or own up to what I was thinking and feeling. Writing it down forces me to put it into words, and not brush it off.”

Tony had chewed thoughtfully during Steve’s explanation, but now, he leaned across the remains of his sandwich in order to kiss Steve. It was quick, and sweet, and unexpected, and Steve felt a little like crying all over again.

“I think that’s _great_ ,” Tony said, squeezing Steve’s shoulder, and ducking his head, cheeks flushed pink. “Really, really great, Steve.”

Steve didn’t know how to respond to that, so instead, he allowed himself to relax back against the couch, settling a hand on Tony’s thigh, content to listen while Peter regaled them with his invention idea, which unsurprisingly required the procurement of a dog. Steve thought of his earlier daydreams, the weight of the notebook in his pocket now somehow comforting. It was like carrying a physical reminder that—one day at a time—Steve was fighting for that beautiful future with him, and Tony, and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Look. Natasha is not amused. That... might become an issue at some point. *shifty eyes* But, Steve is fighting the good fight, and although it isn't easy, he's doing it anyway, and attempting to prioritize Tony. Which, erm, is good and bad. Well. Nothing is simple, or something. Also, I haven't had nearly enough coffee to deal with Monday. Someone send help!
> 
> Also also? I love you, Clint. Also also also? I love all of you. :D As always, feel free to scream over on tumblr, too, http://finely-honed.tumblr.com/ Sometimes fun things happen under [the deep in the heart of me tag](http://finely-honed.tumblr.com/tagged/deep-in-the-heart-of-me).


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve showers Tony with some love. AKA let’s celebrate Tony’s birthday as a family!

“Before I ask, can you agree not to answer until we talk later tonight?”

Tony was all for signs of progress, and open communication, but it still felt a little like he was being set up or something when Steve called him up on Friday afternoon to ask a favor.

“So, you ask now, I answer later?”

“That’s the idea,” Steve said, sounding somewhere between amused and concerned. “Is that okay?”

The curiosity was killing him, so Tony threw caution to the wind. “Yeah, alright. Ask away.”

“I was hoping you might be willing to spend the day _and_ night Saturday—have a birthday weekend of sorts,” Steve explained. Tony caught himself opening his mouth to reply, only to close it again, remembering he wasn’t supposed to answer yet. “And, um, to be clear, I _wasn’t_ thinking of another camping arrangement. Peter’s here all weekend, but he’d sleep in his room, and we’d, ah, be sleeping alone. Together. You know what I mean.”

Tony swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“If you’re not interested, I understand,” Steve continued, sounding very much as if this was as uncomfortable for him as it was for Tony. “Either way, I hope we can still spend your birthday together as a family.”

“Definitely,” Tony managed, heart racing over Steve’s choice of words. “So, um, I guess I’ll let you know later?”

“Perfect. Thanks, Tony,” Steve said. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your day. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Tony murmured before ending the call.

Surprisingly, the choice wasn’t an easy one to make. Since the night of the _Ragnarok_ show, Steve had stopped bringing up the whole them spending the night together thing, although it was obvious that he _wanted_ to.

It wasn’t tough to remember the look that had been on Steve’s face that night; he’d already had his keys in the front door when Tony had suddenly begun babbling some empty excuses, and practically moonwalked back to his car, trying to pretend he wasn’t running away. The whole exchange had left him feeling a little like he’d kicked an already injured puppy, especially since Steve had gone above and beyond in salvaging their evening together, making sure Tony had a nice night.

Steve had still been standing outside, shoulders slumped, and a flimsy smile plastered on his face when Tony drove off. It was almost enough to make him hit the brakes, and turn around. The problem was, try as he might, Tony couldn’t shake the dread that had crept in over the idea of spending the night in the apartment without Peter around to serve as Steve’s talisman. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, Tony could no longer pretend that the last time hadn’t left a mark.

They’d reached the point where Tony felt like there was an elephant in the room, and the most frustrating aspect was that—of all people— _Steve_ was the one trying to get them to actually talk about it, while Tony was determined to pretend everything was fine. It was only a matter of time before he had to open his mouth, and Tony knew that, he really did, but… _Fuck_ , he didn’t _want_ to talk about that morning, not even a little. At least, not until he was convinced Steve was strong enough to hear how flawlessly he’d managed to target Tony’s weak points, hitting the mark with such brutal efficiency that Tony was still reeling from the blow.

But that was then, and this was now. The Steve of _that_ morning wasn’t precisely the same man Tony had been in a relationship with as of late; in some way Tony couldn’t quite wrap his head around, Steve was more _Steve_ than ever. Captain Rogers was nowhere to be found, which was fine by Tony.

So, with that in mind, Tony decided to get back on the horse—creepy as that sounded. He packed an overnight bag, and called Steve up Friday night to let him know that yes, he’d be over around eleven in the morning, and would be spending the night Saturday. Then Tony promptly changed the subject before he chickened out, worried that if they kept talking about it the panic would take hold, and that’d be a big game over.

Only, the panic hadn’t made quite the appearance he’d expected it to. Some of that was admittedly due to the distraction of Peter. He answered the door excitedly, acting like he hadn’t seen Tony in _years_ instead of a day and a half, and there was no way Tony was ever going to get sick of that kind of greeting. As if simply by existing he was making Peter the happiest kid on Earth. The sensation had only doubled when Tony looked up from his crouched, standard Peter-greeting hug position to find Steve watching him with the sweetest smile on his face, eyes bright with happiness as he waited his turn.

“Missed you,” Steve breathed into his mouth, an arm tight around Tony’s waist as he kissed him hello.

And at that right there, Tony felt a little crazy for reasons he couldn’t explain, the fear and anxiety far, far away. He kissed Steve back, then kissed him again, before burying his face against Steve’s neck, and breathing in the scent of him.

“Missed you, too,” Tony said, and it was very much the truth.

Despite the lingering issues, and the conversations Tony knew they still had to have, or the way Steve was so obviously struggling with this new phase in his life, something about it all made Tony feel hopeful. Even _powerful_ , at times, because if he was curious as to what Steve was thinking, or where he’d gone off to in his head, Tony could ask, and knew Steve would answer truthfully. The only problem was, Tony wasn’t always prepared for the answers.

But none of that changed the actual happiness he’d been experiencing, or soured the awesome that was spending the day with the Rogers boys. They put it to a vote, and opted to spend part of their Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum, where Tony had a very difficult time not smiling like a fucking idiot.

Steve held one hand, while Peter took custody of the other, and they slowly made their way through the exhibitions, Peter inundating Steve with questions for a change. Tony had been right there with Peter, listening raptly as Steve discussed painting after painting. Knowledge was dead sexy as far as Tony was concerned, and he made a point to whisper something to that effect into Steve’s ear, leaving him pink in the cheeks, and smiling a shy, pleased smile.

The day had been precisely what Tony needed, especially after a satisfyingly productive, but admittedly long week split between R&D, and his private workshop. Steve and Peter had stopped by to bring him dinner, and brighten his day whenever his schedule had allowed it, but—despite how happy he was to be back at work—Tony was exhausted, and hadn’t really let himself relax in _days_. As a result, the museum was like a little slice of nirvana, as was getting ice cream after, and letting Peter burn off the sugar playing in the park, while he and Steve sat shoulder to shoulder on a bench nearby, and passed a cone back and forth between them.

That night, after Peter was tucked into bed, and read a story by each of them, Tony’s stomach had given an unwelcome little flipflop as they headed into the bedroom. Thankfully, the nerves were short lived. Steve pulled him onto the bed, and wrapped him up tight in his arms, nose tucked against the top of Tony’s head. The steady thump of Steve’s heart, the warmth of him, and the soft, contented noise he made when Tony squirmed closer allowed Tony to relax into the embrace, smiling to himself, feeling pretty good about accepting Steve’s invitation, even before the kissing started.

And then Tony had gone and accidentally made it awkward again.

“Why?” Steve asked, appearing more confused than upset. He was propped up on an elbow, Tony’s cock still in his hand, mouth looking wet, and perfect, and very much _used_.

“Uh, I mean, you’re still... with the side effects? And, I don’t know,” Tony babbled. Admittedly, he was a bit distracted, since he’d just been getting his dick sucked. “A blow job is one thing, but…”

Steve let go of him entirely, and shifted around so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed. “But what?”

Tony did some shifting of his own, trying to figure out why the suggestion made him uncomfortable. “I don’t know, it seems weird to fuck you if you’re not even going to get an orgasm out of it,” he answered after a moment, gesturing helplessly at Steve’s crotch.

The look on Steve’s face left Tony feeling very much as if he’d said precisely the wrong thing. Anger wasn’t even invited to the party, Steve had bypassed it and proceeded straight to _wounded_ , his eyes going a bit wide, and bright in all the wrong ways, while his mouth trembled. Tony made a helpless sort of confused sound as he watched the bob of Steve’s Adam’s apple, and the flaring of his nostrils.

“Sharing _that_ with you has never been about an orgasm for me,” Steve said, the admission sounding as if it had hurt him on the way out. “When you’re inside of me, or I’m inside of you,” Steve shook his head, the slightest of movements, eyes pleading with Tony, “it’s always been about so much more than _that_.”

Tony’s stomach did the dropping out thing, while his heart kicked into overdrive. Steve hadn’t been brave enough to ask, but the question was right there in his eyes. Had he gotten it all wrong again somehow; did Tony feel differently?

Feeling a little like he was defusing a bomb, Tony pushed himself through the space between them, taking hold of Steve, maybe even a bit rougher than he’d intended. Steve’s breath caught, that plush lower lip trembling again, as Tony straddled him, and held his gaze. “Me too, Steve,” he said, the body beneath his shuddering in relief. “It’s the same for me, I promise.”

“It makes me feel closer to you than I ever imagined _possible_ ,” Steve said on an exhale, his breath warm against Tony’s skin. “Giving or receiving, it’s always made me feel wide open and _seen_ , Tony, really seen and accepted and _trusted_ , and so loved,” Steve continued, moaning softly when Tony interrupted him with a kiss, hand fisted in Steve’s hair.

Tony crushed their mouths together, eyes locked onto Steve’s, kissed him until Steve’s mouth went slack, and his eyes unfocused, then pulled back gasping. Steve looked lost, and vulnerable. He was trusting Tony not to hurt him, and it was beyond beautiful.

“I miss that sense of connection, too,” Tony admitted. “I want it—want _you_ , Steve—want to take my time, make you tremble, and sweat into the sheets. Want to open you up, and then _fill_ you,” and at this, Steve made a desperate sort of keening sound, “share that closeness with you.”

“That sounds perfect, Tony,” Steve whispered. “But not if it makes you uncomfortable. I’d be happy to hold you instead. I only wanted to… to make sure you knew how much it _means_ to me. Sharing myself with you.”

What felt like a hundred years ago, a much younger Tony Stark had on more than one occasion rolled over and let Ty get his rocks off, even though fucking was the last thing he'd wanted to do at the time. His memory was exceptional, and so it wasn't difficult for Tony to recall how turned around he’d been in his own head when it came to sex and love and his sense of self-worth. Ty hadn't even needed to pressure him, because by then Tony had already been conditioned to think that he wasn't much good for anything else, anyway. Putting out—be it money, a taste of fame, or an all access pass to his body—was the price of admission, and so he'd let Ty get off, halfheartedly playing the part of a willing participant, all while desperately trying to convince himself that Ty at least _cared_ about him. A little caring went a long way for Tony back then.

Steve wasn't _Tony_ , though, and Tony sure as hell wasn't Tiberius Stone. Steve wasn't sucking it up, and forcing himself to do something he didn't want to in an attempt to keep Tony from leaving. He was gazing up at Tony with love and concern for _Tony_ in his eyes, and it was breathtaking. Steve had meant every word, would let it go, and happily wrap himself around Tony instead, because unlike every other person Tony had slept with, Steve _actually_ loved him.

“I’m sorry. This is another _me_ thing. Me and people I shouldn’t have trusted.”

Tony kissed him again before Steve could speak as to whether or not he was deserving of Tony’s trust. As far as Tony was concerned, that wasn’t even up for debate, despite the new battle scars his heart was sporting. Tony knew how hard Steve was working, recognized that Steve was fighting through a lifetime of pain, and piled up trauma, and that he was doing it _for_ Tony. Hopefully someday soon, Steve would be able to fight on behalf of himself—because _Steve_ was worth it—but until then, Tony could only be grateful, and awed that someone loved him enough to face every last one of their demons on his behalf.

And so Tony held Steve’s face in his hands, kissed him until Steve was whimpering, and looking dizzy from it all. “Let me make love to you?”

Steve nodded, fingers digging pleasantly into the flesh of Tony’s ass as he held on tight. Dipping his head, Steve sucked hungrily at Tony’s lower lip, chased down his tongue, the two of them kissing as if it was the only thing keeping them alive.

Tony followed through on those wants and desires, feeling drunk on it all. Steve struggled to keep the noise to a minimum, which meant Tony was treated to some rather amazingly soft, wrecked, almost painfully choked off sounds of pleasure over the course of the evening. Had to do some struggling of his own to keep from waking Peter.

Steve’s thighs had trembled, and he’d left a compelling spot of drool on the sheets while Tony enthusiastically buried his tongue in Steve’s ass, manfully resisting the urge to just jerk himself off while teasing, and sucking, and lapping enthusiastically. Steve might not have been hard, but that didn’t keep him from panting deliciously, eventually reduced to the point where he almost continuously chanted, “Please, Tony, _please_.”

Tony had been more than willing to oblige at that point, and so he'd reached for the nightstand to get a condom, only to have Steve grab his wrist.

“Can’t we skip that?” Steve had asked, blushing just about everywhere. Tony had stared at him almost stupidly, prompting Steve to smile, lashes dipping for a moment before he pinned Tony with his eyes again. “We're monogamous, and we've both been tested.”

“Good point.”

Tony shifted then to join their fingers, squeezing Steve's hand, and kissing his shoulder. Watched in awe as Steve let go in order to snatch up the lube, and methodically work it over every inch of Tony, until his hips were jerking, and he had to push Steve's hands away.

As soon as he saw the head of his cock push effortlessly into Steve, Tony felt like crying. Not because of the amazingness that was the slick heat of Steve’s body, or how easily Steve opened up for him these days, or even the thrill of having that last little barrier of the condom no longer separating them, but because it felt a lot like home. He’d told Steve he’d missed this—both sides of the equation, really, because there was _nothing_ in the world like the feeling of taking Steve’s cock—but Tony hadn’t realized how much he’d _needed_ to share all the important parts of sex with Steve again. Not until that moment.

And so he’d taken his time, slow, and deep, and awestruck, wrapping himself around Steve’s body, sucking hungrily at his shoulder, and earlobe. Tony babbled away happily, presumably providing running commentary on how perfect Steve felt. How much he was loved. Really, Tony didn’t hear half of what came out of his mouth, too distracted by the way Steve continued to open to him, spreading himself wider, rolling his hips hungrily, trying to take Tony deeper, and deeper.

The side of Steve’s face was pressed into the mattress, expression one of absolute bliss as he reached behind himself to curl a hand around Tony's thigh. Despite the building pressure inside of Tony, there was nothing even approaching urgency in their lovemaking. Tony was content to ride that edge for as long as he could, kept at it until Steve was near boneless beneath him, beautifully flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, one hand fisted in the sheets as he keened softly.

Tony chewed on his lip in an attempt to keep quiet as he shifted his grip to splay his hands across Steve's body, one between his shoulder blades, the other at his lower back, changing the angle of his hips. Steve's hair was dark with sweat, and Tony couldn’t resist running a hand through it, making it stick up wild, before taking hold of the back of Steve’s neck.

“I’m close,” Tony panted, smiling as Steve shuddered around his cock. “Okay if I stay right here?”

Steve’s eyelashes fluttered, and he twisted his head a bit so he could see Tony better. “ _Definitely_ okay,” he stammered, smiling, and looking drunk. “S’kinda the point.”

Tony didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t incredibly into the idea of coming inside of Steve’s ass. He dragged his hands down along the muscled expanse of Steve’s shoulders, then his back, before grabbing the delicious globes of Steve's bottom, spreading him open, so Tony could have a better view. Holding on tight, he chanted Steve's name, soft and urgent, throwing in some dirty, filthy commentary mostly centered around how pretty Steve’s ass was going to look by the time Tony was finished. Steve clamped down around him, gasping a quiet, “Fuck, _yes_ , please,” sending Tony careening right over the edge.

It felt like the orgasm happened in blissful slow motion, as if Tony was freefalling _into_ Steve. He held on for dear life, fingers digging into Steve’s hips before he folded forward, almost in supplication, forehead pressed between Steve’s shoulder blades. Tony felt like he’d forgotten how to breathe, but that seemed sort of unimportant compared to the feeling of Steve shaking beneath him, or the soft, sympathetic noises of pleasure he was making as Tony came.

Tony could hardly breathe for a moment, but wasn’t particularly worried about it, content to slide his hands beneath the boneless weight of Steve’s body, until he had his arms around Steve, and could hold on properly, their sweat slick skin stuttering together as his hips pumped in time with the last throes of his pleasure. Again and again, Tony dragged his lips across whatever parts of Steve he could reach, kissing and lapping at his salty skin, until he felt drunk on Steve.

“Please tell me I managed to stay quiet through that,” Tony gasped, struggling to push himself up and off of Steve.

“Mm hmm,” was the answer, and looking at Steve, you’d have thought Tony wasn’t the only one to have just orgasmed his IQ into oblivion.

“You have no idea how hot this is,” Tony insisted, pulling out only so he could drag the overly sensitive head of his cock through the mess he'd made, and push back inside again. “I’ve always used a condom for anal.”

Steve made a happy sound. “Mm, shared a first.”

Tony draped himself over Steve’s body again, sucking hungrily along his neck and shoulder, reaching to twine their fingers together. It couldn’t be entirely comfortable, but Steve shuddered beneath him, and made another of those contented noises Tony so loved to hear.

“Yeah, we did,” Tony whispered into his ear.

Loathe as he was to pull out, Tony did just that, sliding himself off of Steve's back entirely, laughing when an arm snagged him around the waist, and dragged him in close. Steve squirmed around until he was in a position to kiss Tony, then did so, his face still beautifully flushed. After exchanging several slow, lingering kisses, Steve made himself comfortable by sprawling half atop Tony, nestling in close.

“Don't know about you, but I needed that,” Steve murmured against Tony's jaw.

Sighing contentedly, Tony worked his fingers through Steve's damp hair, feeling oddly possessive, and wonderfully fucked out. “You're definitely not the only one. That was… _lovely_.” Steve snorted, muttering something that sounded a lot like, “Sap,” prompting Tony to squeeze him, and gasp with fake offense. “Shut up, you love it.”

“I do,” Steve agreed, “very much.” He stroked one of his large hands down Tony's torso, fingers skating along his stomach before Steve settled his palm above the tattoo on Tony's chest. “So, I'm guessing it wasn't weird?”

Feeling a pang of guilt, Tony pressed a kiss against Steve's brow, and tightened his grip on the man. “Not even a little. Thanks for, ah, talking me through that. I sort of dragged some baggage into the bedroom.”

“I'm sorry if I—”

“Please don't,” Tony interrupted, cupping Steve's jaw so he could tilt his face up, see his eyes. “Look, back in the day I let people use me so I could pretend I wasn't alone.”

Steve tensed against him, so Tony wasn't too surprised by the startled, “You don't think I—”

“No, I mean… I was thinking of times I didn't want to fuck, but did anyway, and that's the last thing I'd want you to do for me. And before you say it, I know that's not where your head was at. I guess I'm still adjusting to the idea of someone wanting _me_ ; not the public’s idea of Tony Stark, but the glasses wearing, nerdy, maladjusted me.”

“Is it wrong that I'm glad none of them got to have you?” Steve asked, actually looking concerned. “You're my first and only for everything important, Tony.”

Tony didn't have much choice then but to kiss Steve, urgent and sloppy, fingers curling possessively around the hinge of his jaw. “Now who's the sap?” Tony asked once he could tear his mouth away.

Steve smiled at this, stretching out like a cat before propping himself up on an elbow. “Wait, if you're the maladjusted one in this relationship than what the hell does that make me?”

Tony opened and closed his mouth a few times, completely caught off guard, trying to figure out how to respond, when Steve lost control of his stoic expression, and burst out laughing loud enough that he had to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Tony, shit, the look on your face,” Steve gasped, hiding his own face against Tony's chest until he could get control of himself. “I'm so sorry, I couldn't resist.”

“How do I always manage to forget what a troll you are?” Tony asked.

Of course, this only set Steve off again. As Tony kissed the top of Steve's head, the past seemed more distant than ever, in the best possible way. And for once, Tony was legitimately excited to find out what the future held for him.

Tony drifted pleasantly, would have been happy to fall asleep like that, but Steve was kind of a mess. He was sticking to Tony, and that was just the sweat.

“Think we can sneak a shower without waking up Peter?”

Steve lifted his head from Tony's chest, a strange smile on his face. “Probably. Can we wait a few minutes though?”

Tony grinned wickedly, and slid his hand down Steve's back, and over the tempting curve of his ass. “Sure.” Tony brushed his lips against Steve's, deepening the kiss as he slipped his fingers lower, to where Steve was sticky, and slick. “Pervert.”

“Takes one to know one.”

There wasn't much point in arguing with that, so Tony let himself melt into the bed, meaning he was half asleep for their shower. He'd had all sorts of plans for helping Steve get clean, but mostly Tony leaned against Steve beneath the water, face mashed into his shoulder.

“Hey, happy birthday,” Steve said, once they crawled back into bed.

Tony blinked at the clock, which read 12:08, then accepted the kiss Steve was offering, before sprawling across him, and promptly falling asleep.

Tony’s eyes fluttered open then closed again, his brain still so busy playing catch up that for a minute he was confused as to where he was, and why he felt so amazing. Sunlight was trying to creep into the room, leaving everything slightly hazy, and surreal, so that his eyes refused to focus. Tony’s bedroom was either pitch black, or full of light, depending on how he’d programmed his windows before crashing, which meant he wasn’t home. A moment later, his brain finally kicked in; Steve was beside him, radiating delicious waves of heat, their skin feeling almost stuck together everywhere they touched.

It was rare that he actually had an opportunity to see Steve sleeping. Typically, Tony fell asleep before him, or close enough that it didn’t matter, and then opened his eyes to find Steve already wide awake. This morning was a different story. Steve’s breathing was slow, even, his brow unfurrowed, jaw relaxed, lips slightly parted. His normally neat hair was sleep tousled, his jaw sporting a couple days’ worth of stubble, the blankets rucked down to his waist, leaving the rest of him exposed, and dappled in sunlight for Tony’s viewing pleasure.

Carefully, Tony shifted, and watched the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest, almost greedily taking inventory of everything on display. The ink crawling across Steve’s skin, the slightly darker hue around his nipples, the way his abdomen shifted as he breathed. Like many people, Steve looked younger as he slept, the underlying tension he normally exhibited decidedly absent, lower lip plush and pink and jutting. Tony wanted to suck it into his mouth, bite down, chew on it until it was flushed red.

It was tempting to begin running his hands over Steve’s body, to drink in the details with his fingertips, but he was enjoying watching a bit too much to risk waking Steve. Tony opted to touch himself instead, hand sliding southward to palm his morning erection, thinking back to _why_ it was he felt so amazing this particular Sunday morning.

Sighing softly to himself, Tony stared at Steve’s neck, a smile creeping onto his face. The dog tags were conspicuously absent, and there, at the curve of his shoulder, the skin was still dark, and bruised, marked by Tony the night before.

Tony couldn’t help but think about how much his life had changed in the last year. On his previous birthday, he'd woken up and spent a good ten minutes staring at his ceiling, feeling sorry for himself. When he'd been younger, Tony had always assumed he'd be dead before forty rolled around, only somehow he’d made it through, even if he _was_ alone and sober and feeling a lot like it was going to be a depressing, downhill ride to fifty.

And then later that very same day, Pepper had knocked his entire life off course with her birthday gift. Never _ever_ would Tony have predicted a year later he'd be waking up beside Steve Rogers. Sure, it hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing to get there, but Tony was feeling very much as if it was worth it. Although, this did indicate that he was shit at the whole futurist thinking thing when it applied to his personal life.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Tony squeaked his surprise; Steve's eyes were still closed, his breathing even and steady, giving no outward sign that he was awake.

“That's the sound of me jerking off, darling,” Tony said, once his heart was back in his chest where it belonged. “But close enough.”

Steve opened his eyes at this, then looked down, and laughed. “So it is.” Steve rolled enough to get a look at the clock, then glanced at the door, and finally back to Tony. “Mind if I help you out with that?”

“Mm, definitely no objections here. Do we have time?”

Tony hissed with pleasure as Steve pushed his hand aside, and took over. “Peter’s been looking forward to wishing you a happy birthday, but I’m expecting him to make it to seven before he breaks down and knocks.”

“Okay, new rule, no mentioning the kid while sexy things are happening,” Tony said, swallowing a moan.

Steve gave him a serious look, and nodded. “Good rule,” he said, then proceeded to remind Tony how absolutely, mind bendingly efficient he could be. Tony kept one hand over his own mouth, the other fisted in Steve’s hair, and held on for dear life as they played beat the clock together.

Once Tony was able to catch his breath, he grinned down at Steve, who was happily chasing down anything he’d missed swallowing. “Damn. I seriously owe Pepper about a thousand pairs of criminally expensive shoes.”

Steve squinted up at him in confusion, then grinned wide, and pressed a kiss against Tony’s hip. “As far as I’m concerned, she also gets all the free tattoos she wants.”

Tony swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, stupidly pleased by how easily Steve had managed to bypass the potential awkward of his statement, jumping instead to the reasoning beneath. It was a little thing, except for how it wasn’t at all.

“As much as she appreciates art, I think the permanence is a bit of a stumbling point for Pep.”

“Maybe a painting then,” Steve suggested, crawling up the bed to kiss Tony, despite the whole morning breath situation. “I owe her, too.”

“Careful, I’m not used to feeling this happy on my birthday. I might combust or something.”

“Now’s as good a time to get used to it as any,” Steve said. “How about breakfast in bed?”

Tony shifted until he could press a kiss against the love bite he’d left on Steve the night before. “Nah, I like watching you do your thing in the kitchen too much to miss the show.”

There was a fair bit of stupid grinning, shoving, and ass grabbing as the two of them pulled on lounging clothes, and headed for the door. Peter was already waiting for them in the living room, sporting some fantastic bed head, little face lighting up with excitement as soon as he spotted Tony.

“Happy birthday, Tony,” he shouted, jumping up to stand on the couch. “I made you a present!”

“You did?” Tony asked, scooping Peter up into a hug. “That's very nice of you, pudding pop.”

“Me and daddy are gonna make you a cake, too,” Peter continued, just about vibrating with excitement. “Do you wanna see the present?”

“Yes, please, that would be amazing.”

Tony set Peter back down, then joined him on the couch. A moment later, one of Peter’s homemade cards was in his hand, and Tony was grinning ear to ear. The outside had a drawing of the three of them holding hands with Tony in the middle, the words _Happy Birthday_ unsurprisingly emblazoned across the top. When he opened it, Tony had to reread the message several times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

_Dear Tony,_

_Thank you for being in my family! You are my best friend and I love you. You make everything fun and now daddy is happy too and we can celebrate all your birthdays together._

_Love,_

_Peter_

“I love it, Peter,” Tony managed, wondering if Steve had seen the card. “And I love _you_ , too. This is a great present.”

“That's only your card,” Peter said, squirming free of the hug. Tony watched him hop off of the couch, and tug a less than professionally wrapped box out from under the coffee table. “Ta da!”

Steve wandered over, leaning across the back of the couch to give Tony's shoulders a squeeze. “Coffee should be ready in a few minutes,” he announced, pressing a kiss into Tony's hair.

“Daddy, can Tony open his present now?”

“Sure,” Steve answered, and Tony loved that he could hear the smile in Steve's voice.

Tony wriggled his fingers in the air above the gift, and made a big production of opening everything, while Peter practically hopped in place from anticipation. Beneath the paper was a box, and inside of the box was a large mug decorated with more of Peter’s drawings—Peter and Tony were depicted together dressed in lab coats, along with lots of little robots, hearts, and what looked to be planets surrounding them. _We Love Science_ was proudly displayed above the two of them in Peter’s adorable handwriting.

“Tony, do you see? It’s us, and this is our robot,” Peter explained, clearly super excited, “and these are other robots from the future that we didn’t build yet, but I drew them _anyway_.”

“Awesome. I’m also seeing planets, and other cool space stuff,” Tony said, holding the mug up and spinning it around and around, making sure he’d examined every inch of the gift. “Okay, officially? Best mug ever. I love it, Petey-pie. You know what I’m gonna do?” Peter shook his head, eyes wide, and smile wider. “I’m going to take this to work with me, because then every time I drink my coffee, I’ll get to see the two of us together. Also, all the other scientists are going to be super jealous when they see it—err, wait, not that trying to make people jealous is something you should do?”

He glanced over his shoulder, but since Steve appeared to be trying desperately not to laugh, Tony assumed he wasn’t in trouble for setting a bad example or something. Tony carefully placed the mug on the coffee table, and pulled Peter into a hug, squeezing him, and smiling wide. “Anyway, the point is, my gift is amazing. I love it, _and_ you. Thanks, Peter.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter said in a little singsong.

Steve cleared his throat. “Okay, fellas, what do we think about French Toast for breakfast?”

“Yes, please,” Peter shouted at the same time Tony said, “Yay,” the two of them looking at each other, and then laughing. Tony settled back against the couch, Peter climbing up to snuggle with him, and _damn_ , if birthdays weren’t a hell of a lot more fun in his forties than they’d been back when he was a kid. Maybe getting older wasn’t so bad after all?

People always assumed being rich meant your birthday parties were the stuff of dreams. Tony had attended a few of those sorts of parties over the years, so obviously some people _did_ get ponies, and rock stars in attendance, and every other last thing their greedy little hearts desired. Tony hadn’t even been allowed to invite friends over to the mansion when he lived there, let alone subject his parents and the staff to a bunch of grubby kids and their parents. His birthdays were solemn at the best of times.

The year he’d turned seven, Howard had been in a surprisingly good mood for Tony’s birthday, even if he was shitfaced by the time Jarvis brought out the cake. Normally, Tony was subjected to at least one lecture about how celebrating birthdays was a waste of time, or treated to witnessing an awkward argument between his parents over whatever gift Tony had been given. That was assuming they’d both remembered his birthday, and bothered to stick around to celebrate it with him, of course.

But for year seven, there had been an actual celebratory mood in the air, and Tony had been almost desperately on his best behavior as a result. Singing had happened—which was unheard of—candles were blown out, and it was _great_ right up until he’d unwrapped his presents. Once Tony saw the boarding school uniforms nestled inside of tissue paper, the party vibe in the air made a lot more sense.

“Coffee’s ready,” Steve announced, appearing with a steaming mug of the stuff. He leaned over the back of the couch and handed off the coffee, pausing to nuzzle along Tony’s jaw, pressing a kiss against his cheek before heading back to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Tony called, turning around on the couch until he could see Steve. “Need any help?”

“Nope. Relax, and enjoy yourself.”

Tony watched as Steve moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, trying to pinpoint what was different. The set to Steve’s jaw, perhaps, or the lack of rigidity to his shoulders, and spine. As Tony watched, Steve paused in his egg cracking to yawn, and scratch along his stubbled jaw. He looked looser, almost, more relaxed than Tony had seen him in ages.

Apparently, Tony had been staring too intensely, because Steve glanced over his shoulder, grinning once he realized he was being watched. Even from across the room, Tony could see the telltale flush of pink spreading across Steve’s cheeks before he ducked his head, looking away. And, yup, Steve was still smiling when he checked to see if Tony was still watching.

Peter was squirming around on the couch, the sitting still factor obviously getting to him, which Tony totally appreciated. “Hey,” Tony whispered, crooking his finger. Peter crawled over, grinning. “Think we should draw something for your dad?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Peter hopped off of the couch, and gathered up art supplies, spreading them out across the coffee table, so the two of them could get to work. Tony grabbed a sheet of paper, and doodled a bit, letting his mind wander, eyes darting up to track Steve’s movements again, and again.

Since Tony wasn’t an idiot, he’d picked up on how hard Steve had been trying, especially over the last week. It wasn’t just the return to work, or all the therapeutic scribbling he was doing in his notebook, it was also his careful attempts to remain positive when they were together, and the obvious investment he had in Tony having a nice birthday. Tony was all too aware of the ways in which depression sucked the energy out of you, and how sometimes getting better was exhausting, and kind of awful, so knowing that Steve had that going on, but was still trying to make Tony happy?

“Be right back,” Tony said, kissing Peter’s forehead, before snatching up his emptied mug of coffee, and heading for the kitchen.

Steve glanced over and smiled before returning his attention to the French Toast, sending an actual shudder of happiness through Tony’s body. Like he needed more proof of how gone he was over Steve.

Tony sidled up, settling a hand at the small of Steve’s back. “How we doing, sweetheart?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Ten minutes or so,” Steve answered, obviously misunderstanding the question.

“Not the food,” Tony chided, shifting around until he could wrap himself around Steve’s back. “I’m asking how _you’re_ doing.”

Tony waited for the tensing of muscles, but it never happened. Instead, Steve placed a hand over one of Tony’s, and gave it a squeeze. “At this precise moment in time, I’d have to say I’m doing pretty good,” Steve answered softly. His hand was very warm, and large enough to cover Tony’s own entirely. “Have you ever felt good after feeling bad for a long, _long_ time? It’s… I don’t know.” Steve took a deep breath, turning his head a bit, so that Tony could see his profile. “I keep waiting… Not for something _bad_ to happen, exactly, but—and I get how crazy this sounds—for someone to show up to make it stop.”

After a moment of rolling this around his imagination, Tony dug his chin into Steve’s shoulder, and squeezed him. “What, like… a team of lawyers showing up with an injunction or something?”

“I was thinking more like MPs, but yeah, that kind of thing,” Steve said, sounding almost pleasantly surprised. He was quiet for a moment as he flipped the French Toast, but then he set aside the spatula, and pulled one of Tony’s hands up to rest against his chest, covered it with his own. “Do you think that’ll ever go away?”

“Feeling like you don’t deserve to be happy?” Tony asked quietly, wanting to make certain he was answering the right question. Steve nodded, heart beating steadily beneath Tony’s hand. “As stupid as it sounds, I think, in a lot of ways, that’s up to _you_. The better you feel about yourself, the easier it gets to believe… all sorts of things.”

Steve hummed quietly to himself, seemingly weighing up Tony’s answer. “I love you, Tony,” he said after a moment, low and urgent, and with such sincerity that Tony had to squeeze his eyes shut, and hold on tight.

Tony swallowed, and thought of the first time he’d heard those words from Steve. Thought of _reasonable restraint_ , of Steve with tears in his eyes, as he came to the wholly incorrect conclusion that his love was unwelcome, unwanted. Something that could only be seen as a burden. That whole night made more sense in hindsight, now that Tony had looked behind the curtain, as it were, and had come to recognize how much guilt and sorrow had worn away at Steve’s sense of self.

Pressing himself closer, Tony tightened his grip, and kissed the back of Steve’s neck. “I know you do, Steve,” he whispered. “I _feel_ it. I see how hard you’re trying, too, all the work you’ve been putting in.”

Steve flipped off the burner, and twisted around so they were facing each other, eyes bright with tears. “I want you to be happy,” he said, and Tony didn’t need the rest of the words to understand what wasn’t being said.

“You’re as deserving of happiness as I am,” Tony insisted, kissing Steve before he could argue. “And I _get_ what you’re feeling; believe me, Steve, I’ve been there, too. So, since it’s my birthday, I get to be all demanding, right?”

“I don’t know if _demanding_ is the right word,” Steve said, brushing some of Tony’s hair back from his forehead.

“Whatever. My birthday, my rules, yadda yadda. We’ll do it your way on your birthday,” Tony continued, sliding his hands up across Steve’s shoulders, and linking them behind his neck. “My executive birthday order is for you to let yourself be happy today, as a gift to me. Because I love you, too, Steve.”

Steve smiled, even though he was shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s important you understand I’m not in any way asking you to _pretend_ to be happy, or to _try_ to be happier than you are at any given moment over the course of the day.” Tony stroked along Steve’s jaw, and held his gaze. “All I’m saying is, if you find yourself feeling happy today? Don’t fight it, or question it—try to let it happen for however long it happens. Okay?”

Tony loved that he could see how seriously Steve was taking the request. “Okay,” he answered after a moment, nodding solemnly. Then he cupped Tony’s face in his hands, and kissed him. “I can do that. Thank you.”

“For what? Not permission, I hope, because you don’t need—” But Steve was smiling indulgently, and shaking his head, so Tony stopped talking, and let Steve take his mug and give him a refill of coffee.

“I know, Tony, it’s not that,” Steve said. “It’s everything else,” his eyes darted to the side for a moment as he sought out Peter, “and getting to do it _together_.”

And there went his heart, beating wild and untamed in his chest. If he wanted to, Tony could put a stop to it all, take two seconds to remember his bare feet hitting the sidewalk outside of this very building, but he shoved at the doubts and fears and decided to follow his own advice. He was _allowed_ to be happy, and to feel loved.

“Together,” Tony agreed, accepting the plate of French Toast Steve was handing him. “Hey, Pete, breakfast is ready.”

Steve held his gaze with a quiet intensity that bordered on uncomfortable, leaving Tony feeling a bit like something important had happened while he wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t want to poke and prod around the sensation, because it was new, and wonderful, and kind of terrifying.

So Tony headed for the table, grinning when Steve delivered his forgotten cup of coffee, and placed it in front of him. It all felt wonderfully normal, and brand fucking new, the three of them there together, Peter sipping on orange juice, and dragging French Toast through syrup, while Steve squeezed Tony’s knee beneath the table.

They chatted away, Peter telling them about the dream fort he and his friend Gwen wanted to build, which prompted Steve to open his mouth, and tell a story. Tony and Peter listened raptly as Steve explained how Bucky and Clint once thought it would be a good idea to try to build a fully stocked clubhouse while in the Army, and how—as their commanding officer—he had to pretend not to know about it, while Natasha worked to get the whole thing dismantled before anyone got into trouble.

“I still have no idea how they got their hands on that many MREs,” Steve said, shaking his head, and laughing, “or _why_ they wanted them.”

“I think I know what they’re getting for a wedding present,” Tony said, enjoying the way Steve snorted into his coffee.

“Please be serious,” Steve begged, “and let me pick out which ones they get.”

Steve then had to explain to Peter what a MRE was, which led to him recounting the ways they’d hacked and combined items from various packs to significantly improve the contents within. Tony was tempted to go feel Steve’s forehead, see if he was running a fever or something. Not only was Steve talking about the Army, but he was doing so in front of his son, unprovoked, and while _smiling_. Tony was going to take that as a flashing neon sign of Progress, with a capital P.

Once breakfast was wrapped, Steve refused to let Tony help with the dishes, so he and Peter went back to working on their drawings for Steve, killing time until showers and baths happened, along with dressing, and cake making, and more coffee. Tony pulled out his laptop, and made a decent dent in his inbox, filed a few progress reports for Pepper, trying to stay out of the way while his cake was being decorated. After some arguing, Steve eventually allowed Tony to make them all lunch, since Steve was going to be right back in the kitchen again working on snacks, and dinner.

The hours slipped away, Tony feeling too content and lazy to take much notice, until the door buzzer going off prompted him to look at his watch in surprise. “Can you get that?” Steve asked, and so Tony headed downstairs, and yanked open the front door expecting to see Clint and Bucky.

Only, when he opened the door, Pepper and Rhodey were standing there instead, wearing almost identical smiles. For a long, surreal moment, Tony could only blink at them, but then Rhodey sighed, and shook his head. “Seriously, Tones?”

“Holy _shit_!”

And then Tony was hugging his friends, and maybe even getting teary eyed, because it was _Pepper and Rhodey_ , there, in Brooklyn, on his birthday, making Tony feel like he was dreaming, or something. It had already been a birthday for the record books before they’d shown up, and now Tony was so happy it felt almost dangerous.

“What are you doing here?”

“Please tell me you haven’t forgotten your birthday again,” Pepper asked, kissing Tony’s cheek.

“Ha ha,” Tony rolled his eyes, and hugged her again. “Sorry, I’m dealing with a blown mind over here. This is seriously, _seriously_ awesome. Come on up.”

Tony had a moment to wonder if Steve was going to be okay with party crashers, but when he walked back into the apartment, Steve and Peter were waiting for them. Peter jumped up and shouted, “Surprise,” prompting Pepper to burst out laughing.

“This was your doing?” Tony asked, not sure what to do about the shy, hopeful smile Steve was wearing.

“Well, to be fair, the Lieutenant Colonel already had plans to visit,” Steve said, “and was kind enough to play along.”

Tony felt a little like bursting into tears, the happiness overwhelming him for a moment. Instead, he opted to hug Steve, squeezing his eyes shut and smiling, as strong arms wrapped around him, Steve whispering, “Happy birthday,” against Tony’s ear before letting go.

“Tony, I knew the _whole_ time, and didn’t say anything,” Peter announced, tugging on Tony’s hand. “Were you surprised?”

“Super-duper surprised.” Tony crouched down to give Peter a hug, then nodded toward Rhodey and Pepper. “Want to meet my friends?”

“Hey, Peter,” Rhodey said, offering his hand. Peter grinned, and slapped Rhodey’s hand rather than shaking it, holding his own up for a high five. “I see you’ve taught him well.”

“Oh yeah, that’s day one stuff, Honeybuns, come on,” Tony joked, the happiness bubbling up wildly inside of his chest. “What do we say, Petey?”

Peter held up his hand in the Vulcan salute, then did his best robot voice. “Take me to your leader.”

Once she was done laughing, Pepper stepped forward to meet Peter, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she crouched down. “Hi, Peter, I’m Pepper.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a tongue twister,” Tony joked.

Surprisingly, Peter went all quiet, and wide eyed, shaking Pepper’s hand and squeaking out a little, “Hello,” before running over to hide behind Steve’s leg. Tony shrugged, and glanced over his shoulder, wondering if Steve had any answers.

“Nice to finally meet you in person, Pepper,” Steve said, taking a step forward to shake Pepper’s hand. “Rhodes, good to see you again. Thanks for coming. Can I get you anything?”

Tony watched as Pepper followed Steve into the kitchen, helping herself to an appetizer, and admiring the cake. And just like that, it hit him hard, the understanding that the two halves of his life were finally fusing together into something cohesive, building a new world around him. One where Steve and Peter inhabited the same space as Pepper and Rhodey.

Rhodey draped an arm across Tony’s shoulders, and gave a squeeze. “You okay?”

“I’m way better than okay. Let’s go with _great_. How ‘bout you, Sugar Britches?”

Rhodey studied him for a moment, a smile slowly taking over his face. “I’m good. Happy to see you looking so happy.”

Tony felt a tug on his pants, and looked down to find Peter there, eyes still wide and focused on Pepper. “What’s up, my little friend?”

“Is Pepper a movie star?” Peter asked in hushed tones.

“Nope, she’s my boss,” Tony answered. If anything, Peter appeared _more_ awestruck, prompting Tony to surreptitiously elbow Rhodey when he laughed. “Pepper is very nice, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Maybe she’ll hire you,” Rhodey suggested. Tony glared at him, worried that Peter might get excited, but luckily the kid wasn’t falling for it.

“I’m too little to have a job.” Peter leaned against Tony, squeezing his leg. “And Tony has to teach me more things, first, cause I only know teeny, tiny math.”

Unable to help himself, Tony picked Peter up for a hug. “We have lots of stuff to learn together, right?” Peter nodded enthusiastically, arms tight around Tony’s neck. When he turned, Rhodey was giving him a strange look. “What?”

“Nothing, man,” Rhodey swore, smiling and holding his hands up. “Fatherhood is a good look on you, is all.”

And that right there made Tony feel a whole lot like squirming, and denying the accusation, but the last thing he was going to do was say something dismissive. Peter might not get where he was coming from, and wind up thinking Tony didn’t _want_ to be his dad, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. It was too soon, though, and a small part of Tony was still waiting for Steve to have some sort of delayed freakout over how involved in Peter’s life Tony had become.

“Hey, what do you think, wanna show Rhodey our robot?” Peter was very much into the idea, and took off for his bedroom once Tony set him down. “Careful with the word choices in front of the kid.”

Rhodey winced. “Sorry. You _were_ acting all dad-like, though,” he pointed out. “It’s kind of trippy, Tones, and not in a bad way. I’m happy for you.”

Tony grinned. “Peter’s such a good kid,” he gushed. “Wait til you read the card, and see the mug he made for me. I need to replicate the thing, because I will absolutely bawl like a baby if it ever breaks.”

Rhodey happily allowed himself to be dragged over to check out the present, and then the two of them were treated to Peter bypassing them altogether to show Pepper his robot, instead. She oohed and ahhed an appropriate amount, and that seemed to be the end of Pete’s shyness where Pepper was concerned. She smiled over her shoulder at Tony and Rhodey as Peter dragged her off to his room to show her some of the other stuff he’d built with his science kit.

“Better make your move soon,” Tony suggested, slapping Rhodey on the shoulder. “Peter’s pretty charming. Pepper might fall for him.”

Steve chose that moment to join them, groaning over Tony’s words while he handed Rhodey a cup of coffee. “Sorry. I’m _really_ not looking forward to us having to deal with a hormonal teenager,” Steve explained.

“He’ll be the perfect little gentleman,” Tony insisted, ignoring the impulse to dance around the living room in response to Steve’s phrasing. “We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Steve scowled adorably. “Or, he’ll wind up like Bucky at that age.”

“Well, since he’s still five, I think we can worry about all that later,” Tony pointed out, not missing the way Rhodey was watching the two of them, and making kissy faces. Tony leaned around Steve to swat at Rhodey, which probably would have turned into a whole shoving match had Steve not absently declared, “No roughhousing,” on autopilot, before laughing at himself. “Sorry. Habit.”

Tony wasn’t sorry, though, he was over the fucking moon, and didn’t care how many silly faces Rhodey made, or how stupid he probably looked grinning up at his boyfriend. If Steve’s intention had been to make Tony happy, or for him to feel loved on his birthday, then it was most definitely a mission accomplished.

Pepper and Peter eventually rejoined the group, everyone making themselves at home in the living room, Tony catching up with his friends, while Steve finished up in the kitchen, and Peter got to work on a drawing for Pepper. Tony was glad Steve had thought to have his friends show up early, allowing Tony a chance to have them to himself before everyone else arrived.

So, by the time Bucky and Clint rolled in, Tony was relaxed, and his face hurt from smiling. Natasha, Bruce, and Sam weren’t far behind, and before too long, Tony found himself in the odd position of having a room full of people singing happy birthday to him, as Steve presented him with a candle-festooned cake.

“Thank you for not putting forty-one candles on this thing,” Tony said after blowing them out to applause.

“Yeah, we all thank you for that,” Bucky teased, “‘cuz no one likes eating wax.”

“Actually, I don’t mind it,” Clint piped up. “Sort of an acquired taste.”

Peter leaned over the table, pointing to the candles. “Four plus one is five,” he explained, pointing to each candle, “so you get five candles! That’s how many was on my cake, too. We match.”

Pepper snapped off a photo of the two of them discussing birthday math, which was probably the hundredth photo she’d taken that day. Tony had zero complaints on that front. Having Pepper and Rhodey there made the Peter-situation seem _realer_ , somehow, in ways he absolutely approved of, even though it left him occasionally bubbling with panic. When that happened, Tony took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he wasn’t his father.

Although it was pointless, Tony spared a moment to wonder what his dad would think if he was alive to see what had become of his son. Somehow, the idea of Howard approving of any of it was impossible to wrap his head around, but maybe his mom would have been able to push through her apathy long enough to be happy for Tony?

But, really, what did it matter? Tony had a new family now, was surrounded by people who seemed to care about his happiness, and general well being. Tony had Steve, he thought while the man dropped an upside down kiss against Tony's lips after presenting him with a slice of cake, and Peter. Pepper, Rhodey, Bruce, and now Natasha had joined the ranks, along with Bucky, Clint, and Sam. That felt a lot like years of childhood birthday wishes finally coming true.

“Please, let it be real,” had been Tony’s wish as he blew out his candles on his forty-first birthday. He found himself thinking it all over again, as he smiled at Steve around a forkful of cake. “Please, _please_ , let it be real this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting long, and killing me, but in a good way. Also, I'm feeling the Monday pretty hard. It's going to require a lot more coffee.
> 
> But, anyway, LOOK! Good feelings everywhere! Communication continues to happen, and Peter is somehow the cutest kid on the planet. Watch out, Rhodey, Peter might secretly be Mr. Steal Your Girl. ;D Also, Steve opened his mouth and talked about something Army Life related that doesn't make us wanna curl up in a corner and weep, and like... laughed? *shakes head* What sort of world is this!?


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memorial Day.

Tony’s birthday party had wound down fairly early, despite Peter being given permission to stay up an hour late. Getting him to sleep was hard enough when Tony was over—Peter didn’t want to miss out on potential Tony time—so it was almost a lost cause with that many people in the apartment, even if they tried their best to keep the volume down.

While Steve supervised tooth brushing, he overheard Pepper complaining about still being on West Coast time, and how long it was going to be before she could fall asleep, etcetera. Then Natasha had said the magic word; _karaoke_. As everyone jumped on the idea, there were some halfhearted protests from Tony, but it was obvious he wasn’t ready to call it a night, so Steve hadn’t been surprised in the least when he’d had a pair of puppy dog eyes aimed his way.

“I really don’t have to—”

Steve cut Tony off with a kiss. “Go. Have fun,” he’d insisted. “Maybe, if you remember, shoot me a text to let me know you got home okay.”

After tucking Peter in, and saying goodbye about four times, Tony finally allowed himself to be dragged out of the apartment, leaving everything quieter, and emptier in his wake. Steve had expected the depression to roll back in like the tide, except it hadn’t happened. Not precisely. Yes, he missed Tony terribly, but it didn’t feel anything like those other nights, the ones where Steve had stood at the window to watch Tony cross the street, climb in his car, and speed away.

Maybe that was the difference? Tony was out with friends, celebrating his birthday, rather than racing back to an empty penthouse. Steve didn’t need to squirm with guilt, or self-loathing, thoughts looping obsessively over what might have happened during that morning Tony refused to discuss. Instead, he knew Tony was out somewhere having fun, surrounded by people who loved him; it was a much better feeling.

Cleaning up after the party didn’t take nearly as long as he’d hoped it would, meaning all too soon Steve was left sitting in the empty living room, alone with his thoughts. It should have been frightening, especially with Memorial Day being only hours away, and yet the quiet was a relief after having so many people in the apartment. Especially considering Steve knew two of them would have been happier if he’d excused himself during the celebration altogether.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha and Bruce had arrived together. In an attempt to head off any awkwardness that could potentially spoil Tony’s birthday, Steve had taken advantage of being the one to answer the door when they arrived.

“I know I’m on your shit list, but I was hoping we could be civil today,” Steve requested. “At least while Tony’s in earshot.”

Bruce and Natasha had exchanged glances. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Natasha answered, slipping past him to head up the stairs.

“What she said,” Bruce added, his shoulder hitting Steve’s with a surprising amount of force as he followed Natasha upstairs.

At least they’d kept their word, meaning Tony didn’t have to deal with any of Steve’s bullshit on his birthday, which was all that mattered. He’d done his best to give them space, without being obvious, and they’d been courteous. It was even possible Pepper and Rhodes hadn’t noticed the tension between them, which was a bonus. The last place Steve wanted to be was on the bad side of Tony’s family.

Try as he might, it was hard for Steve to ignore the lingering sense of rejection; his friends and family were out with Tony, all of them likely having a far better time now that he wasn’t around. Command had been like that at times, even _with_ the deep sense of connection he had with his soldiers. Only, back then, when he struggled to bridge the gap between Captain Rogers and _Steve_ Rogers, he’d been able to turn to Natasha for help.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Steve wondered if Natasha would consider a twenty-four hour truce. The idea of not being able to talk to her on Memorial Day left his chest tight, and his heart aching something fierce. Coulson had encouraged him to formally request a sit down with Natasha, to see if she was at least interested in listening, so Steve could tell her how much he missed her. Maybe she’d allow it due to the holiday.

With nothing better to do, Steve dug out his sketchbook, and attempted to make some progress on a commissioned piece. He had the oddest impulse to paint, instead, which hadn’t happened in years. Between their trip to the museum, and the lengthy conversation about art appreciation he’d had with Pepper when she’d asked about the paintings hanging in the living room, it wasn’t _too_ surprising, but it didn’t really matter, anyway. His painting supplies were packed away, and he didn’t have an easel anymore, only the pieces of one. So, paper and pencil it was.

Steve was still sketching when his phone vibrated with an incoming call from Tony at quarter after eleven in the evening. “Hey,” he answered, “I’m presuming this means you made it home okay?”

“Uh, no. I mean, yes, but not exactly? Shit, wait, did I wake you up? I know you have an early morning tomorrow, I didn’t think to—”

“It’s okay, I was still awake,” Steve interrupted, hoping Tony could hear his smile. “So, what’s up? Did you have a good time?”

“Sure, sure,” Tony answered almost absently.

“Good, I’m glad.” Something was off, and Steve wasn’t exactly confident in his ability to figure it out without more information. “So, you’re _not_ home?”

Tony cleared his throat. “No, I’m not. Actually, uh, I’m outside your place.”

Steve was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to pull back the curtains, and sure enough, Tony was parked up the street.

“Oh,” he said stupidly, letting go of the curtain. “So, are you planning on coming up, or should I come down to you?”

Tony laughed, and the building tension in Steve’s chest eased up a bit. “I’d _love_ to come up. See you in a few.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Steve looked around his apartment anxiously, as if Tony hadn’t just been there hours prior. He caught himself, shook his head at the sudden case of nerves, and smiled over the sound of Tony‘s feet on the stairs. Unable to help himself, Steve grabbed the knob, yanking open his front door as Tony arrived at the top of the stairs. Steve was happy to see he wasn’t the only one smiling, and the happiness only grew when Tony backed him into the apartment, one hand on Steve’s hip as he carefully closed the door behind him.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Tony said before he cupped the back of Steve’s head, and kissed him. Hard, hungry, urgent, until it took an abrupt turn for the tender. After a moment of chasing each other's mouths, Tony tore himself free, grinning wildly. “I had _such_ a nice day, Steve.”

Steve smiled down at him, feeling as if someone had fitted him for some kind of pressure relief valve, and it was easing away the tension. “Mission accomplished, then. Are you hungry? We’ve got leftovers. I even managed to save a slice of cake for you.”

Tony pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, arms sliding around Steve’s shoulders as he made a contented humming noise. “Mm, no thanks, I’m good.”

Closing his eyes, Steve wound his arms around Tony, held him tight, the two of them swaying together. Tony’s jacket was still on, the zipper digging into Steve’s chest, which he ignored for as long as possible, before putting some space between them, and sighing in relief. “Sorry, but your jacket was not designed with hugging in mind.”

Tony blinked, then looked down, and grinned. “Oops, forgot I still had this on,” he declared, unzipping the jacket and going to hang it up in the closet. “Apparently, I’m more tired than I thought.”

Something occurred to Steve, the warring hope and fear making his stomach flip-flop almost painfully. Maybe Tony wasn’t stopping by on his way home—maybe Steve’s apartment had been his destination? Steve wasn’t sure he would be capable of hiding his disappointment if Tony shot him down, but the fear of rejection wasn’t a good enough reason not to take a chance and see if Tony was interested in staying.

“We could call it a night, head to bed,” Steve suggested cautiously.

“That sounds perfect,” Tony agreed, fighting a yawn. “Oh, before I forget, I’m pretty sure Bucky invited Pepper and Rhodey over to your folks’ for the barbecue tomorrow. Hope that’s okay?”

Steve steered Tony in the direction of the bedroom, turning off the lights and locking up behind them, unable to stop smiling. “Sure, I was hoping they might want to attend. I actually gave them the details earlier, while you and Peter were saying goodnight.”

Tony gave him a dopey sort of smile over his shoulder before heading off to brush his teeth. Steve watched him go, his own tiredness catching up with him in a surprisingly pleasant way. He hadn’t precisely been looking forward to sleeping and had been using Tony’s lack of confirmation regarding his safe arrival home as an excuse to not give it a shot. Knowing he’d have Tony there beside him made the idea of closing his eyes sound a lot less frightening.

By the time Tony staggered into the bedroom, Steve was setting his alarm, and trying not to worry about what the following day might hold.

“Hey, um, I didn’t know you’d be spending the night, so I asked the Parkers to keep an eye on Peter during the parade. Would you want to join them?” Steve asked, quickly adding, “Unless you’re spending the morning with Pepper and the Lieutenant Colonel. I wouldn’t want to—”

Tony took pity on him, ending the babbling by placing a hand over Steve’s mouth. “Have you ever done karaoke?” Steve had to assume his expression said everything and then some, because Tony dissolved into giggles for a moment, before continuing. “Shit, that was priceless. Okay, so, if you’re drinking, it’s pretty much the best thing ever. Sober? Yeah, not so much. Everyone was passing on booze in solidarity for the birthday boy, so I did us all a favor, and called it an early night.”

“I’d feel sorry for you, but _you’ve_ never had to deal with hearing Clint sing ballads to your brother in the shower,” Steve said after a moment, sensing Tony didn’t want to dwell on the subject of sobriety.

“Okay, that’s actually really fucking sweet,” Tony began, prompting Steve to shake his head repeatedly and interrupt with, “No, I’m talking back in the Army, Tony, meaning I was _also showering_. Hawkeye would change the words to make them way dirtier and all about Bucky, and then serenade my brother while surrounded by naked soldiers.”

“Right, so, you feel my pain, _obviously_ ,” Tony had started laughing again and it was such a beautiful sight Steve didn’t ever want him to stop. “I heard him tonight. At least he has a good voice,” he added, wiping at his eyes.

“True. He’d get requests sometimes.” Steve started undressing, shaking his head as he tossed his dirty clothes into the hamper. It was still a complete mystery to Steve as to how he'd mistaken Bucky and Clint’s behavior for anything other than them exhibiting signs of being lovesick idiots. Hell, he was still confused as to how Bucky and Clint managed to miss it. “Anyway, sorry, you were saying you called it an early night?”

Tony flopped down on his side of the bed, sighing as he made himself comfortable. “I don’t know about the rest of them, but Pepper and Rhodey will be out for a couple more hours at least, thanks to time traveling. In a perfect world, they’d wake up next to each other in the morning, but either way, they’ll be sleeping in, and meeting up with us later.”

“Okay.” Steve was distracted by the realization that his brain had apparently assigned Tony a side of the bed.

“But, to answer your question from earlier, I’m happy to join the Parkers.”

Which was a relief to hear. So far, Steve had been lucky as far as conflicts over Peter’s schedule went. He was already spending less time with Ben and May these days and more with Tony, but they’d been nothing but understanding. The idea of calling them up and cancelling—especially on Memorial Day—didn’t sit right with him.

“That’s great. Thanks.”

Tony was watching him, a soft smile hanging around his lips. “Guessing it’s nice, having Peter there with them on Memorial Day.”

It was also a relief to Steve that Tony was so good at making those sorts of connections. “I hope so. The Parkers were out of the Army when they died, but that doesn’t matter. As far as I’m concerned, Richard and Mary died serving their country.”

Steve crawled into bed and wrapped himself around Tony. “Do you care if we talk about something else?” he asked. “There’s still twenty minutes left of your birthday.”

Tony shifted around until he was facing Steve, tangling their legs together. “Officially, that was the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he said, smiling. “Of course, it wouldn’t have been possible without the previous birthday, where I got to put eyes on you for the first time, but…”

“You have no idea how much teasing I endured the week leading up to your appointment,” Steve said, liking the way Tony’s eyes went wide with surprise and curiosity. “Natasha did her whole ‘lull them into a false sense of security, then ask a question while their guard is down’ routine, and got me to admit how attractive I thought you were.”

“You’re _shitting_ me,” Tony said, propping himself up on an elbow. “You thought I was hot? Because—seriously, Steve—I was tripping over my tongue during that consultation. All my charm, right out the window.”

“Not _all_ of the charm.” Steve hoped the incredulity was all over his face. “Tony, I hadn’t so much as looked at a guy with interest in three years. Then you show up and next thing I know I’m giving you my number? _Yes_ , I thought you were hot. More than hot. You were… were like a force of nature. One of a kind.”

“Shut up,” Tony said, chewing on his lower lip, smiling wide. Despite his words, it was clear from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t actually interested in Steve shutting up at all.

Steve shook his head and dragged Tony closer. “I’m serious. You’re _dynamic_ , Tony. And it wasn’t meeting a celebrity—we’ve had VIPs in the shop before—it was something else entirely. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, my heart was racing… I’ve never had that happen when meeting someone before.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have known it from looking at you,” Tony answered, stroking Steve’s arm. “Which I was doing quite a bit of, by the way. You were all cool, calm, and collected.”

Steve traced the perimeter of Tony’s tattoo, smiling softly to himself. “Good to know I didn’t make an ass of myself. Your arrival in my life sort of brought on an existential crisis. In a good way. Stop laughing, I’m serious!”

Tony did not stop laughing, at least not right away, but once he could speak again, he asked, “You really got teased over having a crush on me?”

“They covered my station with pages from your ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ issue of _People_ magazine,” Steve deadpanned, prompting Tony’s face to crinkle up adorably with delight. “You’ve seen pictures of me when I was younger and you know how… how down I can get on myself. Is it any surprise I was convinced you were light years out of my league?”

Tony’s eyes softened and a moment later his lips were against Steve’s, soft, teasing, comforting. “I felt the same way, you know,” he confessed quietly, staring up at Steve, who had rolled himself on top of Tony while they kissed. “It’s amazing what can happen when you stop self-sabotaging for a minute, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Steve’s breath caught in his chest, then returned all in a rush. “Sometimes, I try to imagine what my life would be like if Sam hadn’t talked some sense into me, or if you hadn’t given me another shot, and I can’t sleep. It scares the hell out of me, Tony.”

“I’ve had a couple of those nights myself,” Tony admitted after a moment.

Steve kissed him again, not sure what else to do with all the feelings Tony’s words conjured. After everything he’d done, all the mistakes he’d made, and the ways in which he’d hurt the people he cared about—hurt Tony—it was hard wrapping his head around the idea of being loved by _anyone_. Whether or not he deserved it, Steve knew it was true, and more importantly, he could _feel_ it, could _see_ it in Tony’s eyes; understood how important it was to allow himself to accept the gift he’d been given.

“I’m so lucky,” Steve sighed into Tony’s mouth, kissing him again, and again. “So damn lucky.”

Tony held him tight, hands stroking Steve’s hair, and across his back, squeezing until it was difficult to breathe. When they pulled apart, Tony was grinning, and digging his thumb into the love bite he’d left on Steve the night before, prompting Steve to shiver. There was that dizzying need to worship Tony again, do everything in his power to make the man feel loved, appreciated, cherished.

“Me too, Steve,” Tony said, eyes bright. “Hey, did you see Peter’s card?”

It was easy to tell Tony was worried about what the answer might be, or more specifically, what Steve’s reaction would be. “He showed it to me when it was done,” Steve said, rolling off of Tony, but sticking close, a hand on his chest. “I might have gotten a little teared up. Peter and I had a nice talk about what he’d put in there. The part about me being happy now.”

“I wondered how that hit you.”

Steve sighed and gave a half shrug. “It's tough realizing I wasn’t doing as good a job shielding him from that as I thought I was, but, at the same time, I… I think it’s important to let him know it’s okay to be sad sometimes. Besides, you _have_ made me happier. Much happier.”

Tony ducked his head, smiling hard, then looking up through his lashes. “And you’re okay with the whole family thing?”

“Yes,” Steve answered immediately, cupping the side of Tony’s face so he couldn’t look away. “That’s what we’re working to build together, right?” Tony nodded. “I know I’ve still got a ways to go with, ah, therapy and _everything_. I’m sure this is an adjustment for you, too.”

“Hey, we’re all works in progress,” Tony said softly. He lowered his eyes, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, and Steve fought the impulse to retrieve his sketchbook from the living room.

“Tony, you’d say something if things are moving too fast for you, right?” Steve searched Tony’s face for answers. “The last thing I’d want to do is pressure—”

But then he was being kissed again, Tony’s arms and legs wrapping around him, holding him close. “You’re not,” Tony insisted between kisses, “and I will.” Steve rested his forehead against Tony’s and relaxed upon seeing the conviction there in his eyes. “If I feel like we’re moving too fast, or too slow, or _sideways_ , I promise I’ll talk to you about it, Steve. So, you can officially stop second guessing yourself. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. “I promise I’ll do the same, which means you’re also off the hook for second guessing.”

“You’ve got a deal, Rogers,” Tony said, grinning ear to ear. “Look at us, relationshipping like pros.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat up, and wasn't sure why, had to assume it was in response to the low, intimate tone of voice Tony had used, or the look in his eyes. And maybe it was because he was feeling relaxed, and safe, and the spirit of sharing was in the air, but Steve surprised himself by blurting, “I'm scared about tomorrow.”

Tony's smile faltered as he took hold of one of Steve’s shoulders. “What?” he asked, sitting up. “Why? Because it's Memorial Day?”

Nodding, Steve took a minute to deal with the wall of panic that hit him on the heels of his confession. He'd been doing so well, it felt like he was letting Tony down by making the admission, but there was no taking it back. Besides, he'd promised himself he'd ask for help if he needed it, and he'd promised Tony to stop hiding. Not saying something would be stupid at the very least, and possibly borderline dishonest.

“I'll be back in uniform. So will a lot of other people. What if… what if I freak out again, Tony?”

Steve half expected Tony to climb out of the bed, and start dressing. Instead, he exhaled loudly, and seemed to give the question some serious consideration. “Dr. Coulson gave you some things to do if you start having a panic attack, or feeling a flashback coming on, right?” Steve nodded again. “Okay. So, that's good. Anything happens, we follow the plan. Can't do much about other people in uniform, but you could stick with civilian gear tomorrow.”

Out of nowhere, Steve felt like he could breathe again. Tony wasn't bolting, or panicking, and the world definitely wasn’t coming to an end. “Yeah. Yes. I _could_.”

Tony was smiling at him softly. “But you hate the idea.”

“Seems wrong not to wear it,” Steve admitted. “I was seventeen the last time I was out of uniform on Memorial Day.”

“So, let's do this. Put it on tomorrow, see how it feels, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve glanced at the closet, then back at Tony, who had shifted to sit up against the pillows. “You want to know what I think?” Tony continued, taking one of Steve's hands. “Tomorrow, you're going to put on your uniform, march in the parade, share some barbecue with the family, and everything will be fine.”

It was strange to hear that much conviction in Tony's voice, considering the topic of conversation. Steve shifted so his head was resting in Tony's lap, and sighed when he felt fingers begin carding through his hair.

“Really?”

“Yup. Want to know why?” Steve nodded. “Couple reasons. Now that you know what they are, looking back, have you ever had a panic attack on Memorial Day? Or a flashback?”

Steve took a deep breath and thought about the question. Depressed? Sure. Drunk? Occasionally, before Peter came along. But no actual freakouts had taken place. “No. At least, not that I can remember. Guessing it would have prompted Bucky to say something, if I had.”

“Maybe Dr. Coulson thinks differently, but I'm guessing part of the problem has been you _desperately_ trying to pretend you're okay. Even with yourself. Keeping up appearances is exhausting, and stressful as fuck.”

Steve chuckled at this. “That sounds about right. And familiar.” He wrapped an arm around Tony's waist, and snuggled closer. “You've had to do that, too.”

“Yes, I have,” Tony agreed. “Point is, you don't have that pressure anymore. The cat is out of the bag. Even before, if you were upset on Memorial Day, no one would bat an eye over it. Actually, it would have been weird if you _weren't_ acting down in the dumps.”

“Shit. I never thought about it like that, but you're right. As long as I was around people who’d served, Memorial and Veterans Day were the times when I felt… Well, not _okay_ , but less alone. Normal, almost.”

Tony's fingers kept moving, winding through his hair soothingly, and any momentary regrets Steve had had about saying something felt very far away. If anything, he was glad his mouth had remembered they were supposed to be scared together. He didn't want there to be taboo topics between them, or for Tony to worry about all the things Steve could be leaving unsaid.

“There you go, then. No one is expecting you to be okay tomorrow. Your friends and family know you've got PTSD, which means if something does happen, we’re all going to be right there, ready to help you get through it. You've got a plan to follow from your doctor, and we can always look up times for group meetings tomorrow, so you have that all ready to go if you need it.”

Steve let Tony's words settle over him, and was surprised to find how calm he was feeling. “That's a great idea.” He let his eyes fall closed, as he stroked Tony's thigh. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” It was quiet for a moment, but then Tony added softly, “Thanks for saying something. It's… I'm really happy that you trusted me enough to admit that.”

“It kind of happened without thinking,” Steve confessed, “but I'm glad I did, too.”

Tony’s fingertips massaged Steve’s scalp, prompting him to hum contentedly against Tony’s hip. “Hey, automatic is maybe even better. Let’s take that as a sign your subconscious is into sharing.”

“With you,” Steve clarified.

“Feel any better?” Tony asked, his voice so cautious that Steve pushed himself upright, so Tony would be able to see his eyes when he answered.

“Yes, actually.” Seeing the subtle shift in Tony’s expression over the answer left Steve’s heart tripping over itself. “Much better.”

“That’s the weird side effect of talking about shit,” Tony said after mulling this over. “The things we avoided discussing lose some of their power when they’re just out there, and we can deal with them.”

Steve bit down on his tongue, because the first thing that popped to mind was all the missing pieces of _that_ morning, the ones Tony didn't want to discuss. It felt like an opportunity, but at the same time, Steve could see the walls coming down behind Tony’s eyes, like he'd realized he’d left the door open wide enough for Steve to wedge a metaphorical boot in the crack, and was not happy about it.

“I’m starting to get that,” Steve said, “why talking about traumatic events is important.”

“Good.”

Taking a chance, Steve placed Tony's hand against his chest, held it there so Tony could feel the steady beating of his heart. “I know you're not there yet—at least, not with me—but I hope you've talked to someone about that morning.”

Tony's mouth opened and closed and opened again, before he lowered his eyes. “Yeah,” he croaked, “I did.”

“I hope it helped,” Steve said, doing his best to keep the pain out of his voice.

“A bit,” Tony said, raising his eyes.

Steve nodded, swallowed around the lump in his throat. “If it would make it easier for you, when you're ready to talk to me about what happened, I could come with you to therapy, or the other way around, and we could talk about it there.”

Tony's brows furrowed for a moment, but then he smiled. A small one, but it was still a smile. “Not a bad idea,” he said, his fingers brushing against Steve's chest in a caress. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Okay,” Steve said, feeling almost lightheaded with relief. “Good. Thanks.”

Tony was staring at him intently, but shook his head after a moment, and the smile grew. “I’m about to say something that Pepper said to me, way back when I went into rehab. It kind of freaked me out, and made me want to prove her wrong—I still wasn't on good terms with myself—so I _get it_ , if hearing this makes you uncomfortable.” Tony took a deep breath, pulled his hand free so he could cup Steve's face, and then he said, “I'm proud of you.”

Immediately, Steve wanted to squirm, wanted to point out why Tony _shouldn't_ be proud of him, but he managed to get past the moment, even if he grimaced, and felt a little queasy. “Shit.”

“Right?” Tony teased, raising his eyebrows. “Worst part is, I'm completely serious. Maybe you can't see it yet, but you're doing great, Steve.”

Groaning, Steve curled his hands around Tony's wrists, and pulled his hands free, placing a kiss at the center of each palm. “I either want to give you all the credit, or argue the point in general, but I'm guessing I need to just take the hit, huh?”

“That's probably your best bet, yeah.”

Steve squirmed, and nodded, and said, “Thank you,” before pulling Tony onto his lap, and hugging him tight. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Tony said through a yawn, adding, “sorry, loving you isn’t boring, I’m just tired” once he was done.

It didn't matter, as Steve had caught the yawn, so he twisted around to check the clock. “Alright, sleep?”

“Sleep,” Tony agreed.

They shared another kiss before Tony extricated himself, and wriggled under the covers. For a long moment, Steve stared at him, trying to burn every detail into his memory. The contrast between Tony’s olive skin, and the white bedlinens. The movement of the muscles of his back and shoulders, as he stretched to place his glasses on the nightstand.

Steve turned off the light before Tony could ask what the holdup was, then crawled into bed. Tony was already reaching for him, pulling him in close, and once he was wrapped around Tony, Steve let his eyes fall closed, and drifted off to sleep.

Hours later, Steve opened his eyes before the alarm could go off, and was happy to find himself still in his right mind, with Tony curled beside him. If he’d had any bad dreams, Steve couldn’t remember them, which was fine by him. The nervousness should have probably been there, waiting, but instead Steve smiled in the semi-darkness, thinking of the night before, and his talk with Tony. Even if something did happen, they’d deal with it together, so there wasn’t much point to letting himself worry. Instead, Steve turned off his alarm, and allowed himself to spend a solid ten minutes watching Tony sleep before getting the day started.

In a lot of ways, it felt like any other morning, and so Steve was able to lose himself to routine, happily distracted by the sight of a sleep rumpled Tony making breakfast for Peter with his hair sticking up adorably every which way. Even putting on his uniform again felt _right_ somehow, almost surprisingly so. Really, it wasn’t until Tony popped his head in the room to find out if Steve wanted another cup of coffee that anything felt out of place.

“Holy _shit_.”

Before Steve could ask why Tony was cursing, he saw the blush creeping onto the other man’s face, the hungry look in his eyes, and managed to put two and two together. Feeling equal parts shy, and pleased, Steve straightened up a bit, and smoothed down the fabric. “I think I liked the old uniforms better, but the blue isn’t bad.”

Tony continued to eyeball him, then seemed to shake himself back into reality. “Sorry, I’m staring, aren’t I?”

“It’s okay. Guessing that means I pass muster?”

“Steve, you look fucking _fantastic_ ,” Tony said on an exhale, a smile taking over his face before it slid away again. “But, uh, no, I was thinking less of the sex appeal—of which there is heaps—and more along the lines of…” Tony waggled his fingers in the air, the gesture reminiscent of when he used the holographic interface in his workshop. “I’m having trouble articulating this, but seeing you in the uniform has me wanting to shout ‘ _Eureka!_ ’ or something.”

“Is that good or bad?” Steve asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Good. Anything that provides deeper insight to Steve Rogers is good in my books.” Tony took a couple steps closer, and carefully placed his hand against the center of Steve’s chest, where he wouldn’t encounter any ribbons, or medals, or pins. “How do you feel wearing it?”

“Ah, same as anytime I’ve worn this, I guess; like I’d rather be in my combat uniform.” Steve covered Tony’s hand with his own, squeezed. “Otherwise? Comfortable.”

Tony nodded, eyes darting around as he took in the details of the uniform, like he was scanning for information, and filing it away in that amazing mind of his. Eventually, he looked up and into Steve’s eyes, a beautiful intensity burning there, taking Steve’s breath away. Tony pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, hand sliding up the center of Steve’s chest, and along to the back of his neck, where Tony gripped him tightly as he brought their mouths together.

“Tony,” Steve sighed against his lips, pulling him close, needing to feel the solidity of Tony in his arms.

He was still rumpled, smelled of sleep, and _Tony_ , and everything good, wearing a borrowed t-shirt and pair of Steve’s pajama bottoms, the legs too long and pooling over his bare feet. Even with the drawstring tied, the pants hung low on Tony’s hips, and there was room to maneuver, to slide his hands down and under the fabric, drag his palms over the beautiful curves of Tony’s ass. This earned him a whimper, Tony pushing himself into the embrace, tongue teasing against Steve’s own. He tasted of coffee, and something with cinnamon, and Steve was very much tempted to blow off the parade in order to spread Tony out across his bed so he could taste every last inch of him.

“How do you do that?” Steve asked breathlessly, one hand splayed possessively at the small of Tony’s back, the other cupping the side of his face. Tony blinked at him, pupils blown, and his mouth looking especially pink. “Make everything else in the world feel small, and insignificant when compared to you?”

Tony’s fingers curled around Steve’s wrist, gripping tightly as if he needed to anchor himself. “I could ask you the same thing.” Twisting in Steve’s arms, Tony glanced over at the clock, then smiled sheepishly. “Pretty sure you need to be out the door in about fifteen minutes.” Steve nodded. “Mm, so, how about you let _me_ be the one to take you out of this uniform later?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve agreed. With a sigh, he leaned forward, and kissed Tony’s forehead. “Thanks again for the pep talk last night. I love you.”

Steve liked that he was allowed to say the words these days, and that Tony remained relaxed in his arms, smiling up at him as he answered, “Love you, too, Steve. You’re gonna do great today.”

Trusting Tony was right about his ability to handle the day was easy when it was the two of them together, and so Steve let himself believe as Tony dragged him out into the kitchen, where Peter was waiting to send him on his way with a hug and a huge smile. It became even easier when he sent off a text message to Natasha, and received a prompt reply of, “Temporary truce accepted. See you shortly.”

As was normal for Memorial Day, his unit was waiting for him at the starting point of the parade, the addition of Sam rounding things out nicely. A cup was pressed into his hand, but before Steve could say anything about not wanting to drink because of Tony, and the medication he was on, Bucky slung an arm around his shoulders, and said, “Don’t worry, I gave you apple juice.”

“Mine is definitely _not_ apple juice,” Clint announced, raising his cup in the air. “Here we go again, I guess.”

Steve’s heart seized up as he looked around the group, allowing himself to think of the people who should have been standing there with them, but were not. It hurt, like always, but there was something almost satisfying about the pain; their absence _should_ be felt, after all.

Catching Natasha’s eye, Steve raised his glass. “To Nick,” he said, relieved when Natasha nodded, and echoed the sentiment.

As they did every year, they went around the circle sharing names, taking drinks, so that by the time the parade started, most of them would be warmed from the inside by whiskey. The real drinking, toasting, and storytelling wouldn't start until later on in the day, but Steve still felt an odd pang of guilt and jealousy and oddly enough loneliness over abstaining. It was yet another instance of him being _outside_ of his supposedly close knit group of friends.

Marching was better, because Steve's mind was free to wander in an almost meditative state as his steps synced up with those of the veterans around him, making him feel more like part of a whole. Steve thought of Richard and Mary Parker, Nick Fury, and Maria Hill. Of a beautiful boy from Tennessee, and the annoyance that had been Anderson. Of his biological father. Of every letter he'd had to write to the family left behind when he'd lost one of his soldiers.

“You did a good job yesterday.”

He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts that for a moment Steve was convinced he’d imagined Natasha’s words. When he turned to check, she was watching him expectantly. “Thank you, that means a lot,” he said, hating how on edge he was feeling. Natasha had always been a person he’d felt comfortable talking to. Facing front again, Steve fought down all the words competing to push their way out of his mouth, sticking to what was important. “So does the truce today. It’s been—” Steve bit back the rest of the sentence, worried it would be perceived as manipulative if he told her how hard it had been, not speaking to her, even if _was_ the truth. “Thank you.”

Natasha remained quiet long enough that Steve assumed she’d had her fill, so it caught him by surprise all over again when she spoke up. “How’s Peter adjusting?”

“To Tony?” Steve asked, glancing her direction. “Great. They’re like two peas in a pod. Doesn’t hurt that Tony is amazing with him, either.” Steve caught himself smiling, and tried to smother it, not wanting someone to see, and think him disrespectful. “Did Tony show you his birthday card?”

“Yes,” Natasha said. “It was very sweet.”

Steve nodded his agreement. “How… how have you been?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Digging his fingernails into his palms, Steve kept his eyes facing forward. He hated that the conversation felt like being stuck in a minefield, wished he had any idea how he was meant to fix what he’d broken between them.

“Clint asked me to be his best man,” Natasha announced.

“Hell, you should be giving him away,” Steve suggested. “Both of them. You were the only one with enough sense to realize they were in love with each other.”

Natasha snorted. “Idiots.”

“Hey, remember Fort Vomelette?” Steve asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck.

“ _Oh_ yes.” Natasha sounded surprised, and maybe even a bit curious. “Of all the MREs to steal—”

“It makes no sense— _none_! I tried to describe the texture and awfulness to Tony and Peter, but just thinking about that shit turns my stomach.” Steve shuddered, and risked sneaking a look at Natasha, who was watching him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, I left out the dirty parts.”

Natasha had an eyebrow raised, and the corner of her mouth twitched in a smile. “Those are the best parts. I thought Diaz was going to kill them when Bucky and Clint walked in on him jerking off in their fort.”

“Occupied, occupied,” Steve faux-shouted, remembering Diaz’s panic. “Who started the Jack Shack rumor, anyway?”

“Linetti, who else?” Natasha answered.

“Vince Linetti,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. “I, ah, heard Kelly got remarried last year?”

“She did, to his brother.”

Steve almost tripped over his own feet. “To _Angelo_?” There weren’t words for how strange that made him feel, so Steve gave up trying to find them. “Although, knowing Linetti, he'd be happy to find out they're taking care of each other.”

They were quiet for another block or so, before Natasha spoke up again. “Sam says you've been seeing his friend. Good fit?”

“Very.” Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, not sure how much he should say. “He has a nice, no nonsense approach.”

“Well, keep at it.”

“I will,” Steve said, heart beating fast. “I _am_. All day, every day.” He could feel the weight of Natasha's scrutiny. “In a lot of ways, it's the hardest thing I've ever done.”

Natasha had been the one to drag him into a supply closet, when Steve had broken down in the hospital after pulling Clint out of Bucky's recovery room so he could get checked out. Hawkeye had refused to let anyone near him until he knew Bucky was stable, had managed to get past the staff, and sneak into the room so he could be there when Bucky woke up.

Steve wasn't much better. He'd been shot more than once, and there were concerns about irreparable damage having been done to his leg. They'd had him hooked up to an IV, pumped full of pain meds, but he was a stubborn idiot, and needed to know his family was taken care of. Everyone left alive, anyway.

So, he'd waited until they moved on to someone else, yanked out the IV, and went to find Bucky, Clint, and Natasha. Walking was agony. The adrenaline had worn off, and the morphine only did so much. Emotionally, Steve had felt numb, and emptied, like everything was happening to someone else, but then he'd heard Bucky screaming.

Somehow, he managed to keep it together long enough to get Clint where he belonged, and then it had hit him like a truck. But Natasha had been there, had pulled him into that closet, the one and only time he'd let any of his friends do anything resembling comforting him over what had happened. Steve could still remember how Natasha smelled of smoke, and blood, and disinfectant as he'd sobbed in her arms.

It had only been a handful of minutes, the pain in his leg too overwhelming to ignore, while also feeling like nothing at all compared to the guilt and horror welling up inside of Steve. Natasha had helped him back onto his feet, supporting his weight as he limped back to his own room, where the Major was waiting with threats to post MPs to make sure Steve stayed put.

So, knowing what she did, and having seen and experienced so much of it right alongside him that awful day, Steve was pretty sure Natasha could understood the significance of his confession.

“At some point, you have to stop settling for surviving, and start living,” Natasha said.

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wished they were anywhere else, because there were a lot of things he might have said to Natasha in that moment. About how hard it was to live, when guilt ate at you every hour of every day. How much he wanted to feel like he deserved to be there, in one piece, while good men and women— _his people_ —were in the ground. That the moments of happiness he shared with Tony hurt sometimes, felt like a betrayal, even though he knew none of the people they'd lost would want or expect him to spend the rest of his life punishing himself for what had happened.

“I'm trying,” Steve said, voice catching. “I'm trying _so hard_ , Tasha.” He swiped at his eyes, brushing aside the tears, and clearing his throat. “I know that I’ve let you down. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. And I get that ‘sorry’ doesn’t change anything, but the truth is, I _miss_ you, and I hope you know that earning back your friendship is important to me.”

Somehow, Natasha’s sigh could be heard over the steady pounding of boots against pavement, and the band playing ahead of them. Steve hadn’t expected a response, had only wanted to let her know the rift between them wasn’t inconsequential to him. He didn’t bother with wiping away his tears this time, just left them where they were. No one was going to think twice about a veteran crying on Memorial Day, anyway.

Steve wondered how much of their conversation Bucky, Clint, and Sam had overheard. Not that he was embarrassed, but…

A hand grabbing his own and squeezing pulled Steve out of his thoughts. Natasha was watching him, her eyes downright flashing, and for the briefest of moments, Steve was convinced she was about to tell him to give up, because it wasn’t ever going to happen. Only, she didn’t pull her hand away when he squeezed back, so Steve decided to count it as a win.

He probably would have stared stupidly at Natasha for the rest of their march, if a cry of, “Daddy,” hadn’t pulled him back into the moment. Turning sharply in the direction of the shout, Steve spotted Peter, Tony, and the Parkers up ahead.

And that was _magic_ right there, Steve’s heart swooping dangerously in his chest at the sight of Peter perched atop Tony’s shoulders. The impulse to break formation, and pull them into his arms was so strong that only Natasha’s hand in his own kept it from happening. Steve smiled in their direction, and waved, the tears making a comeback when Peter saluted him. He managed to return the salute, though, and keep walking, mouthing, “I love you,” to Tony as he passed.

Taking a deep breath, Steve opened his mouth again. “Normally, this would be the part of the morning when I start thinking it should have been _me_ , so Richard and Mary would be alive to see how amazing their son is.” Glancing over his shoulder, Steve managed to catch another glimpse of his family.

“Normally?” Natasha prompted, letting go of his hand.

“I’m sick of feeling guilty about how much I love being his father,” Steve said. “Peter was amazing from the moment he was born. Maybe they should have thought about what would happen to him before…” Whether it was true or not, speaking ill of the dead—especially on Memorial Day—felt sacrilegious, prompting Steve to swallow the rest of the sentence. “What the fuck do I know? I’m not any better. There’s plenty I should have done differently, but somehow I thought keeping quiet about… everything was the only way to keep being Peter’s dad.” Steve sighed. “Tony said it better than I ever could—I was too far down the hole in my head to recognize that I should climb out, instead of digging deeper.”

“And now you’re climbing?”

Steve nodded. “Yes I am,” he said with conviction, holding Natasha’s gaze before facing front again.

“Good. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t. _Can’t_. Tony and Peter are waiting for me at the top,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders. “I want to be able to enjoy sharing whatever’s left of my life with them. I think… I think I’ve earned that much, at least.”

Natasha snorted. “About time you figured that out.”

“Yeah, well, you know me,” Steve said, smiling to himself, “stubborn as the day is long.”

“Sounds about right,” Natasha answered, and that felt _good_ , felt a lot like a reason to hope. “That shit with Tony? That can't happen again, Steve.”

“I know,” he answered, jaw tight, but it wasn't Natasha he was upset with. Whatever had happened had been _his_ fault, missing memories or no, and Steve was well aware of that fact.

Taking a deep breath, Steve felt the now familiar weight and shape of his notebook pressed against his chest, and let the calm settle over him. “I can’t change the past. All I can do now is learn from it. Now that I’m not trying to do it on my own, maybe I actually have a chance to get it right.”

Natasha reached out again, and gave Steve’s arm a squeeze. It was a little thing, except for how it wasn’t. Something of the tension between them had bled away, so that the silence was comfortable again. Whatever her intentions, Natasha’s gesture left Steve feeling much lighter as they marched on, side by side, just like old times.

At the time, Steve had rejoiced, had felt like it was a good first step in the right direction with Natasha. Hours later, though, he’d remember the two of them holding hands, and wonder if she’d only been lulling him into a false sense of security. That she expected more from him was one thing—Steve hadn’t been lying when he told Clint he was proud of Natasha for not being so quick to forgive—but to have her ambush him? Natasha going out of her way to kick him when he was already down seemed out of character, but Steve wasn’t sure what else was he meant to think.

Because a couple hours into the barbeque, Steve headed into his parents’ house to grab Tony a drink, not thinking much of it when Rhodes and Pepper walked in behind him a moment later. “Can I get you anything?” Steve offered, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you can get the fuck out of Tony’s life,” Rhodes suggested, casual as you please.

Even though a cold, sick sort of dread was already washing over him, for a moment Steve waited for the punchline, or some indication that he’d misheard. He closed the fridge, and took his time turning around to face the pair, bracing for impact. One look at their faces, and Steve was forced to give up his hope that he’d misheard, or misunderstood.

“I was thinking more along the lines of soda, or iced-tea,” Steve said, surprised by how calm he sounded.

“Go ahead, make jokes,” Pepper said. Her hands were on her hips, and there were two bright spots of color in her cheeks.

“Not sure how else I’m supposed to respond to your request,” Steve answered. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Rhodes snapped, taking a step forward. “You know _exactly_ what this is about. What, did you think we wouldn’t find out?”

Steve’s heart was racing, adrenaline pumping, and as awful as it was, the whole fight-or-flight response had cut through the omnipresent fog of the antidepressants, leaving him feeling sharp, and alive in a way he hadn’t in ages. Even as he prepared to answer, Steve’s brain was providing him with snapshots of the moments leading up to him heading into the house. Rhodes, Pepper, and Natasha had been standing together, talking, which meant chances were Natasha had said something to provoke the confrontation.

“Are you referring to the morning of my breakdown?”

Pepper and Rhodes exchanged unimpressed looks, then refocused on Steve before Pepper answered his question. “If by ‘breakdown’ you mean the morning you assaulted Tony, then yes, that’s what we’re talking about.”

It was as if someone had doused him with icy water, the word ‘assaulted’ hitting Steve harder than if Rhodes had thrown a punch. “Wait, what? What are you— _assaulted_?”

“I knew this was gonna happen,” Rhodes said, shaking his head. His hands were fists at his sides, and he was vibrating with anger. “It’s Tiberius fucking Stone all over again. What else have you been having him keep quiet?”

Despite feeling as if a chasm of panic had opened up beneath him, Steve went ramrod straight with indignation. He didn’t know much about Stone, but had enough details to know that the bastard had gone out of his way to keep Tony under his thumb.

“Hang on a minute, I’m nothing like that guy,” Steve snapped, “and I haven’t been making Tony keep _anything_ quiet. Can we please go back to the accusation of assault, because—”

“You actually expect us to believe you didn’t bully him into keeping this a secret?” Pepper demanded. “In what world would we have possibly accepted an invitation to your house knowing how you treated him? And to think I was _happy_ for him yesterday!”

“He’s had some fucked up low lifes leech off of him, but you take the cake,” Rhodes added. Pepper had a hand over her mouth, and Rhodes reached out to squeeze her shoulder, offer a little comfort. “Manipulative doesn’t even cover it. You used your own kid as leverage! I can’t even figure what it is you’re after, man, because if you think you’re getting anywhere near the money—”

“I don’t want Tony’s money,” Steve interrupted, anger and devastation warring within him. He felt like he was going to be sick, could feel cold sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. “Don’t want it, don’t need it, and I’ll sign whatever you want to put together that would legally prevent me from having access to so much as a dime of Tony’s money.”

“Fine, you’re not a gold digger, congratulations. You’re only an emotionally abusive monster,” Pepper suggested. “Either way, if you think we’re letting you anywhere near Tony after this—”

Steve’s head was pounding, Pepper’s words momentarily drowned out by the sound of his ragged breathing, and the sensation of his heart hammering against his ribs. Steve dragged a shaking hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, hopeful that, perhaps, this was actually a nightmare he was about to wake up from.

“I love him,” Steve began, but this only prompted Rhodes to laugh.

“Yeah, sure you do,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “We’ve heard that before. If that was true, you’d break it off with him now, and let him get on with his life. He doesn’t need yet another person breaking his heart.”

“He deserves to be happy,” Pepper added.

The dreamlike sensation of being disconnected from his own body was growing with each passing moment in the kitchen, panic edging in, setting off alarm bells in Steve’s head. He knew he should excuse himself, go find Bucky, or Sam, and concentrate on getting through the oncoming storm. But Steve couldn’t seem to move, or open his mouth, feeling absolutely torn down the middle. While part of Steve twisted with guilt and shame, and more or less agreed with what they were saying, the rest of him was _pissed off_.

“I agree with you,” Steve said, straightening up to his full height. “Tony _does_ deserve to be happy, which is why I’m not going _anywhere_. As long as Tony wants me in his life, I’m there. Whether you choose to believe it or not, I am in love with him. And you know what? Tony’s in love with me.”

Rhodes clapped, his expression dark, the sound of the sarcastic applause setting Steve’s teeth on edge. “Of course Tony thinks he’s in love. You played to every last one of his daddy issues. The only thing missing is the glass of single-malt in your hand. You kept him jumping through hoops for your approval, kept that goal post moving, so it was always just out of reach. He’s so twisted up in his insecurity, and desperation to be loved that he can’t see you for what you really are. You’re not the first Howard Stark knock-off Tony’s fucked, Rogers. We’ve been through this too many times to count, and if you think for a minute some speech about love is going to change our minds, think again.”

Steve felt dizzy with shock, as if his blood was draining out of his body. He half expected to look down and see the kitchen floor covered in crimson. And again, there was that part of himself that agreed with Rhodes, knew that Tony deserved much, much better than the likes of a fucked in the head veteran with a bad habit of hurting the people he loved. Only, Steve couldn’t shake the memory of Tony saying he was _proud_ , of falling asleep with Tony in his arms, of the two of them and the promise of _together_.

“I understand why you wouldn’t be excited about Tony getting involved with someone with PTSD,” Steve said, none of his anger making it into his voice. “Fair enough. But don’t you dare compare me to Howard Stark. I’ll be the first to admit I made mistakes over the course of our relationship. Knowing that I’ve hurt Tony _eats away at me_. I owe him everything. If I could change the events surrounding finally realizing that I needed professional help, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t.”

Steve took a deep breath, and plowed on, before Rhodes could jump in again.

“You will never find anyone who loves Tony even half as much as I do. I would take a bullet for him, but dying or getting shot is easy. Living for someone is a whole lot harder, and that’s what I’m doing. Every single day, I go to war with myself, and I do it for Tony, and Peter, and the future we’re all building together. Tony deserves to be happy, but so do I, and that doesn’t happen without him in my life.”

Pepper opened her mouth, but Steve wasn’t finished.

“Also? Tony’s stronger than you give him credit for. He’s the one dictating the terms of our relationship, and made it very clear that he’d have to leave me if I didn’t make my mental health a priority. Tony’s the smartest person I know; if he loves me enough to stick with me while I’m going through this, I have to believe that I’m worth it. That what we’ve been building _together_ is worth it to him. And as long as that’s the case, I’ll do whatever it takes to make him happy, will love and cherish him until the day I die, even if he eventually decides to move on. But that’s _Tony’s_ decision, not yours.”

Feeling as if he was walking through water, Steve stalked out of the kitchen, heading through the living room, and out the front door so as not to have to brush past Rhodes and Pepper. They called after him, but Steve ignored their protests. All he could think was of getting _away_ , finding someplace safe, before the panic took over. With each step he took, the guilt and self-loathing grew, the shame almost too much for him to handle. Running sounded like a good option, but there was no way he could leave without letting Tony know what was going on first.

As he headed into the backyard, Steve caught Natasha’s eye, and felt like the bottom was dropping out all over again. She was neither a liar, nor vindictive, so whatever she’d said to Tony’s friends must have been the truth, and said because she felt it was in Tony’s best interest. Steve sucked in a shaky breath, and held her gaze. It felt like whatever progress he’d made climbing out of his hole of depression had been upended by a kick to the teeth, sending him plummeting back toward the bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This wasn't a fun chapter to write. I mean, the beginning was a breeze, but the rest? ~____~;;; Let's all take a moment to think of Clint singing to Bucky, and feel better about life. And, of course, I can't not hear [the Hawkeye song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQ27iS1mkuo) in my head now. I'd give Clint all the free guac. Just sayin'.
> 
> Anyway. Show of hands, who thinks Tony is going to be even slightly amused and laid back over what happened? And... good, no one raised their hand. Yeah. Pepper and Rhodey sort of overstepped a bit there. *cough*
> 
> But look at those dorks being all adorable together in bed the night before! And and and... Steve in uniform? Er... Steve actually vocalized thinking he's earned some happiness! More Progress. And Steve didn't actually collapse in a puddle of self-loathing over Pep & Rho putting him on blast? Er... 
> 
> *runs & hides*


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets his first taste of a Memorial Day BBQ with his new family. Clint is a good bro. _Team Protect Tony Even If He Doesn't Want You To_ gets a little reality check from the person they're supposedly protecting.

When he was in boarding school, Tony was the only kid who kept quiet whenever a holiday or break ended, and everyone came back with stories of spending time with their family. If prodded, he’d say he had a good time, but that was about the extent to which he opened his mouth. Kids or no, some of his classmates had to have figured out he was so quiet because going home sucked, but it wasn’t like anyone at school really cared enough to get to the bottom of things. They tolerated him because of his last name, knowing his family had connections they might one day need, little tycoons in the making, already playing the game.

Tony would listen to their stories though, then try to imagine a scenario where he went home, and there was a whole family’s worth of people happy to see him, or wanting to spend time with him. While he could imagine his mom breaking through her customary stupor in order to stroke his hair, and quietly welcome him home, that was about the extent to which Tony could push his imagination where his parents were concerned. Jarvis would show more enthusiasm, at least, and as long as Howard was preoccupied, Tony could sneak off into the kitchen, and catch Jarvis up on things at school, which made pretending to be cared about a little easier.

Since hanging out with his family’s butler was primarily what Tony was working from as far as experience with family functions went, it was sort of like being dropped into an alternate universe to find himself being swept right into the middle of things the moment he arrived at Steve’s childhood home.

“There he is!” Gabe shouted.

Tony hardly had time to react before Steve’s dads were circled around him, pulling little party poppers, and sending streamers shooting his direction. Peter let out a cheer of delight, and ran around trying to catch the colorful ribbons of paper as they fell.

“Happy birthday, Tony,” Dum Dum called, giving him a hug, and a slap on the back.

“Belated,” Jim added. “Hope you’re not sick of cake, because we used you as an excuse to make cake.”

“Like you need an excuse for cake,” Gabe said.

Tony was more or less passed from dad to dad, getting a hug, or a handshake, wished a happy birthday over and over, so that by the end of the cheerful onslaught, his face actually hurt from grinning. It would have been an understatement to say Tony had been nervous over meeting his boyfriend’s _five fathers_ , but apparently Steve hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d sworn his family was already crazy about Tony.

While Tony coped with the happy feelings, Steve watched him, wearing a knowing little smile, still looking fucking fantastic in his dress blues. With how worried Steve had been the night before, it was a relief to see him appearing so relaxed in his uniform.

Steve hugged each of his dads, gave Peter permission to play with Lucky in the backyard, and then sidled up to Tony. “You looked like a deer in headlights for a minute there,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, it might take a couple of years before I adjust to the idea of so many people giving a fuck about my birthday,” Tony murmured. “Or, um, the whole loving family vibe in general.”

Steve draped an arm around his shoulders. “Well, let me know if you need me to run any interference,” he said. “Good intentions or no, I know they can be a bit much at times.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tony insisted. “They’re all ridiculously nice. I’m just waiting to make an ass of myself, or something, so they change their minds about me.”

“Please, if they’re still putting up with me, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Steve laughed, pressing a kiss against Tony’s temple. “Although, feel free to use me as a human shield if you want.”

At first, Tony was tempted to take Steve up on his offer, but the relaxation sort of snuck up on him while he was hanging out. Steve had stayed glued to his side up until he was put to work by Dum Dum. Tony panicked for a minute or two over being left unsupervised and unsupported, but he genuinely liked Steve’s family—they were kind of wonderfully laid-back, and surprisingly easy to talk to. Crazy as it sounded, they seemed to like him in return, and acted as if Tony had always been a part of Steve’s life.

Gabe had presented Tony with homemade root beer, and anything harder than that was nowhere to be found, presumably in consideration of his sobriety. It was the kind of gesture that normally made Tony feel like he was being singled out, and not in a good way. In the not too distant past, Tony would have probably encouraged everyone to drink up, while insisting it was fine, even if it made him feel like a pathetic fucking loser for being unable to handle a little booze. Then, as everyone else had a good time, Tony would get lost to the battle between his seemingly perfectly reasonable justifications for having _just one drink_ , and the understanding that he was at his best when not having so much as a drop of the shit.

Maybe it was because he was still riding a birthday high, but instead of going down that particular rabbit hole, Tony had clinked his bottle with Gabe’s while thanking him, and basked in how _nice_ it was that the Dad Squad had kept their barbeque dry on his behalf. Tony wasn’t an idiot, so he didn’t miss the telltale signs that a high proof bottle of something was being passed around between some of the younger veterans of the group. Natasha’s flushed cheeks, and Sam’s admittedly adorable giggling was kind of a dead giveaway, but even they were keeping it under wraps for Tony, which was sweet, and appreciated.

So, one minute Tony was a nervous wreck, and the next he was jacketless, with his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and sunglasses on, happily occupying a corner of a picnic table in the backyard, shooting the shit with Gabe, Bucky, May, and Jacques.

“How freaked out is Steve about Peter starting big kid school in the fall?” Gabe asked.

Tony shook his head. “Not freaked, exactly. More convinced Peter is going to show up for his first day of kindergarten, and then magically come home a moody teenager, or something.”

“Of course he is,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to homeschool the kid.”

“Don’t judge, Buck. It feels that way,” Gabe said, sighing. He slung an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, and gave him a little shake. “One minute they’re Peter’s age, and the next they’re all grown up, and getting married.”

Bucky pulled a face, then laughed when Jacques grabbed him, too. Tony was so happily distracted by the realization that he’d actually known the answer to Gabe’s question that he almost missed Pepper and Rhodey’s arrival.

There was more hugging, and it was probably somewhere during the last round of introductions that Tony was struck with an overwhelming sense of _belonging_ , something he had seldom experienced in his life.

It was more than the welcoming nature of Steve’s fathers. Even Ben and May Parker had gone out of their way to make him feel as if he should have been there with them on the parade route. May had snapped more than one photo of Peter sitting up on Tony’s shoulders, and she and Ben had each mentioned how nice it was that Steve had a special someone in his life now. As an added bonus, while they were together, each of the Parkers worked in a kind word or two about how well Tony and Peter got along. Knowing how important Ben and May were to Peter and Steve, getting their approval was a big weight off of Tony’s shoulders.

Tony sipped on his root beer, surveying the backyard as he half-listened to Rhodey, Jim, and Gabe exchanging war stories. Clint, Lucky, and Peter were playing tag, while May snapped photos. Bucky and Pepper were discussing something that involved lots of hand gestures on Bucky’s part, and laughter on Pepper’s, all while Natasha shook her head. Jacques and Bruce were nearby, chatting happily, while Steve and Dum Dum were over by the grill with Ben.

Perhaps sensing he was being watched, Steve looked up, and met Tony’s gaze, a slow, almost sentimental sort of smile working its way onto his face. He nodded his head in Peter’s direction, then shook it, prompting Tony to grin back happily. Really, despite everything that had been going on, the last month had been filled with a surprising amount of happiness. Yeah, there were lows, and plenty of shit still to be addressed, and overcome, but at that particular moment, it was hard for Tony to feel anything but hopeful, and content.

Really, all things considered, he should have _expected_ the day to take a turn for the worse, because that’s just how things seemed to work out for him. And yet, Tony was still entirely taken by surprise when shit hit the fan.

It was later in the day when Tony was about to go for a second hamburger that Clint suddenly appeared at his side. “Uh, so, I gotta tell you something, but don’t freak out,” he began, which was the worst possible way to start a sentence.

“Great, I’m definitely freaking out now, thanks,” Tony interrupted, surveying the backyard. He’d half expected to see Steve had gone MIA, or was having another meltdown, but there he was, apparently having a nice conversation with Ben and May, a smile on his face. “I swear to Science, if this is something stupid, like we’ve run out of ketchup—”

Clint gave him a truly remarkable, “Are you fucking serious,” face, then held up his phone. There, on Twitter, was a photo of Tony and Peter together. Followed by another. And another. Peter on Tony’s shoulders, the two of them holding hands at the parade, a shot of Tony crouched down and accepting a hug, while Peter clutched a little American flag in his hand.

“Fuck me.”

“Uh, so there’s a whole theory making the rounds about how the reason you’ve been Guy Incognito with the press for years is ‘cuz you had a downlow kid. #SonofStark is blowing up the internet.”

Tony was scared to take out his own phone, so he stood there staring at Clint’s screen instead, mouth hanging open. “ _Fuck me_ ,” still seemed entirely relevant, so he repeated himself.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, wincing. “I mean, you gotta admit, it ain’t the craziest conclusion to jump to. Peter does look like he could be your kid.”

While being able to pass for Peter’s biological father gave Tony a teensy, tiny, sort of actually _enormous_ thrill, the rest of him was quietly panicking, wondering how that was going to make Steve feel. Since he already had a bunch of hangups over being Peter’s father, Tony couldn’t quite imagine Steve simply shrugging it off. It wasn’t that he expected Steve to be mad at _him_ over the rumors—even if Tony should have anticipated something like this happening—but it was the kind of pressure and attention Steve didn’t need at the moment. Or ever, really.

“This is bad,” Tony groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Steve has enough on his plate right now.”

Clint grimaced, and gave a half shrug. “Yeah, but at least he’s in therapy, and on meds now. _Really_ bad would’a been this happening earlier on. If it had to happen, at least it was, ah, _after_ , y’know?”

Tony nodded, latching onto Clint’s optimism. “True. And it isn’t like reporters followed us here, or anything.”

Feeling a sudden twinge of panic, Tony glanced around, half expecting paparazzi to pop out of the bushes. Steve caught his eye, a quizzical look on his face, so Tony slapped a smile in place, and waved. After waving back, Steve pointed to his drink, and mimed an offer to get Tony a refill, which he accepted hastily. That’d keep Steve occupied for a minute or two, while he tried to wrap his head around what had happened. Bio-daddy rumors aside, there was the entire issue of pictures of Steve’s son making the rounds on social media.

“Okay, it’s not the end of the world,” he reminded himself, finally pulling out his phone. “Man, I did _not_ miss this sort of thing. I know we’ve been stupid lucky so far, but…”

Flipping through some of the posts, Tony was somewhat surprised to find comment after comment expressing approval about him choosing fatherhood over celebrity life. He wondered how many of the same people would turn nasty upon finding out Peter was actually his _boyfriend’s_ kid.

“Ugh, #MysteryMom,” Tony said, wincing over some of the old tabloid photos making the rounds.

“Inquiring minds wanna know,” Clint agreed. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, @vondoom thinks you cloned yourself.”

“That’s about the last thing I’d want to do,” Tony muttered. Groaning once more, he tore his eyes from the screen, and stared at a nearby tree as if it had any answers. “I really, _really_ do not feel like dealing with this right now.”

“So don’t,” Clint suggested. Tony’s incredulity must have been obvious, because he added, “I mean, yeah, show Steve, and all that, but maybe wait on dealing with the online half of shit.”

“Waiting always makes it worse,” Tony sighed. “It’s better to get out and own it, take over the narrative if possible. I need to talk to Pepper.” Her purse was still slung over the back of her chair, but Pepper was nowhere to be seen, so Tony refocused on his phone for the time being. “What I should do is take my own photo with Peter and Steve, and post something about celebrating Memorial Day, but nothing happens until Pepper gives the all clear. That’s assuming Steve will even go for it. _Shit_. And it was such a nice day, too.”

There it was, the unmissed, and all too familiar feeling that his stupid notoriety was ruining everything.

“Uh oh,” Clint said, prompting Tony to look up. “We got Captain Rogers coming in hot, check your six.”

Tony twisted to look over his shoulder, stomach dropping into his shoes. Steve was flinty-eyed, his jaw tight, and entire body rigid. Captain Rogers indeed. Tony immediately thought of his universal soldier pod person description, and braced for impact. Obviously, Steve had already figured out what had happened, and wasn’t even remotely pleased.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Tony hissed, turning to Clint before spinning on his heels to face Steve. “Hey, I was just looking for you.”

Now that Steve was closer, Tony could see the tears in his eyes, and immediately felt twice as bad. Despite his initial impression, this wasn’t the rigid, emotionless Captain Rogers, it was a very clearly distraught Steve.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Steve glanced at Clint, then apparently decided he didn’t care if they were overheard, and opened his mouth. “I have to leave,” Steve said, voice trembling. “Would you be able to bring Peter home later? If you already made plans, he can stay here with my dads, or—”

“Whoa, hold on, where are you going?” Tony grabbed hold of Steve’s arms, and squeezed. He was shaking, and looked like he might start sobbing at any moment.

“The gym, maybe, blow off some steam,” Steve said in a rush, swallowing and blinking rapidly. “Then group, depending on how I feel after.”

“Steve, sweetheart, I need you to tell me what happened,” Tony said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, despite the panic building up inside his chest. While he’d certainly expected Steve to be pissed that pictures of Peter wound up on social media, his reaction seemed more in keeping with having had another flashback, or maybe a panic attack.

Tony’s heart pounded wildly as he watched Steve clench his jaw, and turn his head to the side, as if to hide his face. When he looked at Tony again, the anguish in Steve’s eyes made it difficult to breathe. “Ms. Potts and the Lieutenant Colonel just ambushed me in the kitchen. Made it painfully clear they don’t approve of me being part of your life. Their phrasing was a lot less polite, but that’s the gist of it.”

For a moment, Tony stared up at Steve, running the words over and over in his head, trying to get them to make sense. “Wait, they did _what_?”

Steve nodded. “Apparently I’m either a Howard Stark knockoff, or the next Tiberius Stone.”

“Are you fucking—”

“Ms. Potts says I’m an emotionally abusive monster. For some reason, they seem to know more about what happened that morning than I do,” Steve said, scrubbing a hand over his face, accusation edging into his voice, “which makes defending myself difficult. I’m leaving before I make this worse than it already is.”

Guilt, anger, and shock were duking it out, leaving Tony standing there stupidly with his mouth hanging open.

“I’m sorry,” Steve added, stepping in close, and hugging him. “If I stay, I’ll do or say something I’ll regret. Can we regroup in a couple hours?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony stammered, hugging him tightly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Steve shook his head, but must have seen the panic in Tony’s eyes, because then he cupped his face, and brought their mouths together, the kiss surprisingly tender. “Try not to worry, I’ll be okay once I cool down. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony said, feeling dazed as he watched Steve stalk off. Turning to Clint, he asked, “You heard that, right? I didn’t hallucinate the Pepper and Rhodey thing?”

Clint was wearing a decidedly poleaxed expression. “Nope. That had a whole lotta nothing to do with #SonofStark.” Shaking his head, Clint clapped Tony on the shoulder. “I’m sticking with Cap. Better safe than sorry. You’ve got a five minute head start before I text Bucky, and let him know what’s up, so you might wanna deal with those two,” Clint suggested, pointing somewhere behind Tony.

Spinning around, he spotted a flushed Pepper, and a glaring Rhodey having what looked to be a heated conversation with Natasha and Bruce. Brain making some very unwelcome connections, Tony stalked toward them, then detoured once he noticed Dum Dum was alone over by the grill.

“Hey, do me a favor, and keep an eye on Peter?” Tony asked.

Dum Dum’s eyes narrowed as he looked Tony up and down. “Somethin’ happened.”

“Yeah, my idiot friends had a few words with Steve,” Tony said. “He left, by the way. Clint’s gone with him. I’m sorry, I had no idea they’d do something this stupid.”

“You go do what you need to do,” Dum Dum said, giving Tony’s shoulder a squeeze. “Let us know if we can do anything to help. I’ll keep Peter outta trouble, and see if I can keep Bucky from buttin’ his nose in where it don’t belong, too.”

Tony sighed his relief. There was no telling the potential escalation problems he’d have on his hands if Bucky got involved at this stage. “Thanks.”

That taken care of, Tony made a beeline for his so called friends, watching them cut off the conversation once they noticed his approach. Pasting his best press circuit smile onto his face, Tony draped an arm across Rhodey’s shoulders, and looked at each of them in turn.

“Hey, gang. Any guesses as to why I’m _incredibly_ pissed off?” Tony asked cheerfully. Anger had made short work of the shock and fear, which was fine by him.

“Tony,” Pepper began, but he held up a hand, then pointed to the house.

“Inside. Peter has a sixth sense about drama. If I look upset, the kid’ll be over here in a hot second, wanting to make sure I’m okay.”

Pepper and Natasha had the decency to look guilty over his words, Pepper nodding her agreement as the group headed for the house.

“I’m not entirely sure what happened,” Bruce began, but Tony cut him off. “Nope, you too, Brucie-bear. No way am I doing this more than once.”

Everyone took the hint, and kept their mouths shut as they headed inside. Tony considered taking the conversation upstairs, but opted for the living room instead. He didn’t like the idea of them sitting together in Steve’s old room for this particular conversation.

“Take a seat,” he ordered. Pepper, Rhodey, and Bruce took the couch; Natasha folded her arms across her chest, and then leaned against the armrest closest to Bruce, which was going to have to be good enough. “So, crazy thing just happened. My _veteran_ boyfriend—the guy suffering from PTSD—stopped by to let me know he needed to leave his family’s Memorial Day barbeque, because my two oldest friends in the world decided to corner him in his childhood home, and call him a _monster_.”

Rhodey was looking to Pepper for answers, but she had her mouth shut tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Beside him, Bruce whistled, and shook his head.

“Really?” Tony drawled, hands on his hip. Bruce winced apologetically, and glanced up at Natasha. Tony stared at her, as well. Steve had said Pepper and Rhodey knew more than he did, and since Tony hadn’t breathed so much as a word of what had happened that morning to either of them, that only left Natasha and Bruce as possible sources of information. “Nat?”

“In my defense,” Natasha said, holding up a finger, her words oddly crisp and precise, “I thought they already knew what’d happened.”

“Great.” Tony scrubbed his hands over his face, the reality of the thing finally settling in. When he pulled his hands back, Pepper was watching him with an arched brow, the question as to _why_ he hadn’t told them right there in her eyes. “You know why. _This_ is why, right here. Did you seriously tell Steve he was a Howard Stark knockoff?”

Natasha winced, while Rhodey sat up straighter. “Tony, what the hell else are we _supposed_ to think?” he asked. “There was all that drama last year, him stringing you along, dangling the kid like a carrot, and then he goes and assaults you! And we don’t hear a peep about it?”

The room seemed especially quiet, or maybe that was shock doing its thing. The word assault had hit Tony low in the gut, left him cold, and shaking with disbelief. “Whoa, back it up, Prickly Pear. Steve never _assaulted_ me! Nat, what the fuck did you tell them?”

All eyes were on Natasha. “I never used the word assault.”

As Pepper, Natasha, and Rhodey talked at the same time, Tony thought longingly of the previous silence. Following the thread of what was being said was tricky, but he had picked up enough to figure out that thanks to keeping quiet, he shared at least some of the blame for what had happened. Tony walked over to an empty chair, and fell into it, leaning over to brace his elbows on his knees.

“Tony?” Bruce said, leaning forward so he could clasp Tony’s knee. The rest of the room slowly grew quiet. “You okay?”

“Not really, no,” Tony answered honestly. He pinned Natasha with his eyes for a long moment, then looked to Rhodey and Pepper. “Did Nat bother to mention Steve doesn’t know what happened that morning?”

Pepper’s eyes widened slightly, which was answer enough for Tony. “That’s pretty convenient amnesia,” Rhodey said, not bothering to hide his disbelief.

“Yeah, real _convenient_ ,” Tony snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Or, I dunno, maybe the guy’s doctor is right, and the stress of living with severe PTSD for years has fucked with Steve’s hippocampus. But what do doctors know, anyway?”

Rhodey frowned, but didn’t argue further, so Tony refocused on Natasha for the time being. “He was in a dissociative state that morning. Even as upset as I was, I saw it happen, Nat,” Tony snapped, jabbing his finger in her direction. “One minute he’s in la-la-land, and the next Steve checked back in with reality. You saw him after—he was in worse shape than I was.”

Natasha huffed. “I remember seeing him come out of the building with you thrown over his shoulder, visibly struggling, before he dumped you on the sidewalk half dressed, crying so hard you couldn’t see straight.”

“Which sounds like assault to me,” Pepper added, the fire back in her eyes.

Tony went to open his mouth, but Natasha had more to say. “And why _doesn’t_ he know what happened? He’s had plenty of time to ask you, and actually show some remorse, but instead he’s walking around like it never happened.”

“Which is bullshit,” Bruce added cheerfully. “Why should we forgive him, or believe he’s not going to do something similar in the future if he isn’t going to own up to his actions?”

Everyone was watching Tony expectantly, some of them exhibiting smug satisfaction the longer he kept his mouth shut. “Wow. This is…” Tony leaned over, and hid his face in his hands for a moment, so unbelievably angry with them and himself that he felt sick to his stomach. “I don’t even know how to properly convey how absolutely wrong you all are. Steve _has_ asked, Nat. Repeatedly. In fact, the last time it came up, he suggested we talk about it together in therapy, if that would make it easier for me. Which is what we decided on, by the way, not that it’s any of your fucking business, because last I checked, none of you are part of our relationship.”

“Keeping secrets like this is a warning sign, Tones,” Rhodey pointed out, thankfully managing to sound slightly less righteous. “We’ve been down this road before, and we’re worried about you.”

“I get that,” Tony said. “But I am an adult, Rhodey. On top of that, I’m stone cold sober, I’m in therapy, and there’s even a support group I hit up for family members of people with PTSD. Show me some respect, and stop using shit from _eighteen years ago_ to justify your actions. You should have come to me with this.”

“When I asked you if he knew, you never mentioned Steve tried to talk about what happened,” Natasha said, her tone oddly accusatory.

Tony stared at her, and shook his head in disbelief. “I haven’t told you a lot of shit, Nat, because it’s between _me and Steve_. Which is why your ‘show some remorse’ point is laughable. You have no idea, none of you, what that man is going through, or how hard he’s been working on getting better. And, considering he’s been doing all of it _for me_ , this is just… Un _fucking_ believable.”

He couldn’t seem to shake the memory of their talk the night before, and Steve’s careful and decidedly brave attempt to once again find out what had happened. Tony knew full well that the unknowns were weighing on Steve, but he’d still chickened out anyway, content to let Steve remain in the dark a little longer, rather than manning up, and dealing with things. Tony knew Steve wasn’t going to push the issue, and was fully aware that guilt and shame were keeping Steve from doing so.

And somehow, despite all of that, Tony had been so fucking _proud_ of himself over how he’d handled their conversation. Steve’s outlook on Memorial Day and everything else had been so much better afterwards that Tony had gone to sleep wanting to give himself a pat on the back for being a good boyfriend, when really, he was being a hypocritical coward.

Knowing that he should have handled things differently was making the current shitshow seem infinitely worse. At least if Tony had given Steve the Cliff Notes version, he’d have had some solid ground to stand on when Pepper and Rhodey ambushed him. Now Steve was out there probably operating under the assumption that whatever Natasha had told Tony’s friends was an accurate take on the morning in question. Which meant Steve was likely _also_ under the impression he’d assaulted Tony.

Whatever he believed, there wasn’t a chance in hell Steve wasn’t currently beating himself up over everything. More than anything, Tony wanted to go find him, try to make it better, see if there was any chance of convincing Steve that he shouldn’t feel guilty for things he’d done while not in his right mind.

“I think you’ve all managed to forget something important,” Tony said wearily, fighting against a sudden influx of tears, “which is that you ganged up on the man I am deeply, profoundly in love with. Added bonus, Steve happens to be struggling with the sort of depression and guilt that makes me wonder how the hell he still finds the strength to get out of bed in the morning. But he does. Steve gets up every day, and he _fights_ , for me, and for Peter.” Tony swallowed, and growled his frustration, wiping at his face. “So, thanks a fucking lot for dumping more weight on his shoulders. I really appreciate the help, _friends_.”

Bruce looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in the room, which was unsurprising. Neither of them were big on confrontations. Tony was more distracted by how stricken Natasha seemed.

Pepper cleared her throat. “I’ll admit, we could have handled that better,” she said carefully, and Tony couldn’t help but laugh. “But, you also promised to tell us if Steve started falling back on old behaviors. The idea of you being stuck in an abusive relationship—”

“I’m not in an abusive relationship!” Tony almost shouted, leaning forward in his chair. “And Steve _hasn’t_ fallen back on old behaviors, Pep. Since we had our talk in December, he’s done nothing but try his hardest—”

“If _that’s_ his ‘hardest,’ I’d hate to see him half-assing things,” Rhodey muttered.

“Oh, shut up,” Tony snapped. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Tony, if Steve’s having such a hard time, maybe you should consider a temporary separation,” Pepper suggested, “at least until he’s in a better position to be in a relationship.”

Rhodey’s expression brightened over the suggestion, so Tony opened his mouth again before his friend could jump on that particular bandwagon. “ _Right_ , because the best way to help someone you love who's suffering from mental illness is to cut all ties with them until it’s more convenient for _you_.” Pepper winced, and Rhodey deflated somewhat. “I guess I should consider myself lucky the two of you didn’t opt for that approach with me when I hit bottom. I’d be dead right now.”

“This is my fault,” Natasha announced, swaying back onto her feet, leaving Tony suddenly curious as to how much she’d had to drink over the course of the day. “Steve said some things to me during the parade, that… shifted my perspective, somewhat. Since I was under the impression Pepper and Jim already knew about that morning, I didn’t think before making a comment to Bruce about it being time, perhaps, to consider giving Steve another chance.”

Bruce hummed his agreement, and shot Tony an apologetic look. “And I might have pointed out that Steve’s lack of accountability over his actions on the morning in question was still an issue. Which, ah. Sorry about that. It appears as if I wasn’t working with accurate data.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, his imagination filling in the blanks as to how the rest of the conversation had played out. A whole lot of bias, and misinformation, and people going off half-cocked.

“We were kind of understandably freaked out, Tones,” Rhodey said. “Maybe we overstepped, but we were only trying to—”

“ _Maybe_? Maybe you overstepped?” Tony asked, incredulous.

Rhodey shrugged, still not looking nearly apologetic enough. “We did it because we love you, and wanted to help.”

“Oh, is _that_ how it works? Okay.” Tony smiled sweetly, and looked to Pepper. “Rhodey’s been in love with you for years, but he’s too chicken shit to actually do anything about it.”

The satisfaction over watching Pepper turn bright red, and Rhodey start panicking was short lived at best.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Rhodey hissed, eyes wide. “That was—”

“What’s the problem? I love you, and I’m helping,” Tony explained. “How’s it feel to have someone stepping in where they don’t belong?”

Tony got to his feet, and pointed at the front door, which cut off any forthcoming arguments from his friends. “I think you should leave now.”

Pepper’s eyes went wide with surprise, while Natasha hung her head, chin tucked against her chest. She grabbed hold of Bruce’s shoulder hard enough for her knuckles to go white, but he simply covered her hand with his own, and shot an apologetic look in Tony’s direction.

“Are you serious?” Pepper asked.

“Did you miss the part where we’re the guests of Steve’s family? Dum Dum’s keeping Bucky under wraps for the moment, but if you think he’s going to stay calm about what you did to his brother, you’re nuts. I doubt the Dad Squad, Sam, or the Parkers are going to be thrilled about what happened, either.” Tony took a deep breath, and scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to push aside his irritation. “I don’t have the time, or the energy to circle-talk this shit with you right now. Peter’s definitely noticed his daddy is MIA, so I’m going to go deal with that. We can try again tomorrow.”

Rhodey shook his head as he got to his feet, embarrassment and anger warring on his face. There was a big part of Tony that wanted to beg them to forgive _him_ , even though he was the wronged party. He shoved roughly at the compulsion to smooth everything over, and pretend things were fine when they weren’t. That wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all Tony.

“My purse is still out back,” Pepper said, sounding slightly dazed.

“I’ll grab it,” Natasha offered, making a break for it before Tony could protest.

Still, as he watched Pepper stand up, and smooth down her skirt, chin tilted defiantly, Tony felt a little like he was never going to see them again. It was ridiculous, but that was the reality of the thing. Tony had never been angry with either of them before; irritated, sure, but never filled with the kind of outrage than made him want to exit stage left in order to find the nearest bar. If they stayed, and he had to hear anymore lame justifications, and unrepentant bullshit, things were going to get ugly, fast.

Tony’s phone vibrated in his pocket, which suddenly reminded him of his original crisis. “By the way, Peter and I got spotted together at the parade,” Tony said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “The internet has decided I had some secret love child, which is why I went off the grid.”

“What?” Pepper sounded as if she couldn’t decide whether or not Tony was joking.

Ignoring the commentary bubbling up around him, Tony checked his phone, and found a message waiting from Clint, explaining that they’d made it to the gym, and that Steve was doing okay. While Tony was typing out his reply, Clint sent along a video. Tony turned down the volume on his phone, then hit play, wincing as he watched Steve wailing away on a punching bag like it was personally responsible for all the horrors in the world.

Apparently, he and Clint had very different ideas on what constituted doing okay.

Bruce’s hand on his shoulder brought Tony back into the room. “I’m sorry, Tony,” he said softly, squeezing. “Call me if I can do anything to help.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Tony said, pulling him into a quick hug.

Natasha had come back in without him hearing her, and given Pepper her purse. The two exchanged some quiet words, before Pepper swept over and planted a kiss on Tony’s cheek. “I’ll be in touch shortly over the PR issue,” she said, sounding wearily apologetic. “You know I love you, right?”

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. He _did_ know that, at least logically, but it was really nice to hear it at the moment. “I love you, too. Both of you,” he added, shooting a look at Rhodey, “but I don’t think you entirely appreciate the severity of what you did today, and the effect it could have on Steve’s mental health. We’re a team, Pepper—hurting Steve hurts _me_.”

Pepper blinked rapidly, tears in her eyes, but managed to compose herself. “Well, then, I hope he’s okay,” she said softly, squeezing Tony’s hand before walking away.

Rhodey had already positioned himself to hold the door for her, the look on his face making it clear he was still unhappy. Whether that was specifically because of Steve, or due to Tony letting the Pepper-love cat out of the bag was unclear. It didn’t really matter. Either way, the end result left Tony feeling like shit.

“Don’t get so swept up in soldier boy’s drama that you forget to take care of yourself, Tony,” Rhodey said before leaving.

Beside him, Natasha cleared her throat. “Bucky asked me to stay.”

Tony sighed, and shook his head, looking away from the front door. “Fine, but no more drinking.” Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded her agreement. “Bruce, you might as well stick around, too, unless you want to escape the awkward.”

“No, I’ll stay,” Bruce offered.

Heading for the yard, Tony sent off a quick update, letting Clint know that it was safe for Steve to come back, if he was so inclined. All Tony could think of was the look in Steve’s eyes when he’d repeated Pepper’s words about being a monster. Unable to help himself, Tony added, “Think it’ll make things worse if I show up?” and hit send.

Bucky spotted him, and swept over before Tony could interrupt Peter and Lucky’s game of catch. Tony waited for an angry outburst, or some threats as to what his friends could expect if they messed with Steve again, but instead, Bucky yanked him into a rough hug. “You doing okay?”

Tony’s breath hitched, and he found himself holding onto Bucky as if he was a life preserver. “He’s been working _so hard_ , Buck,” Tony all but wailed, hiding his face against Bucky’s shoulder. “Now we’ve got to deal with this, _and_ the internet thing. What if it’s too much?”

The fingers of Bucky’s bionic hand were cool as they curled around the back of Tony’s head, and something about knowing he’d been the one to make them was oddly comforting. Bucky was making soothing sounds, and rocking him gently. “No way. Steve’s gonna surprise you, Tony. Clint says he’s _pissed_.”

“Why do you sound happy about that?” Tony asked, pulling out of the embrace so he could see Bucky’s face. Sure enough, he was wearing a confusingly satisfied sort of smile.

“Easy. Pissed means deep down, Stevie knows your friends are full of shit,” Bucky explained. “Which means he also knows the two of you are good for each other, and that he deserves to have a fuckin’ happy life already. _Pissed_ means you’re gonna get to enjoy being on the good side of Steve’s stubbornness for a change. No way in hell is he backin’ down now. The punk’ll spend the rest of his goddamned _life_ fightin’ to prove how wrong they were.”

Tony blinked at Bucky, not sure how to respond to any of that. His heart was racing though, and there was a tiny part of him holding onto Bucky’s words with fierce hope.

“No bullshit, Tony, this is progress,” Bucky insisted, clapping Tony on the shoulder. “Complacent ain’t anything near Steve’s natural state.”

“I hope you’re right,” Tony sighed.

Pocket vibrating, he whipped out his phone, and read over Clint’s reply. “Definitely not. Come over, and we can trade places.” This was followed by an address, and another video clip.

Now that Pepper and Rhodey were gone, Tony turned the volume up a bit, which meant this time he was able to hear the jingling of the chain the punching bag hung from, and the dull, ominous sounds of Steve’s fists connecting with the bag.

“...he had the nerve to _clap_?” Steve grunted.

“Yuh huh, you mentioned that earlier,” Clint’s voice was louder, since he was holding the phone and recording. “S’bullshit.”

“Damn right it’s bullshit,” Steve huffed, slamming his fists into the bag.

The video ended there. When Tony looked up from his phone, Bucky was grinning at him. “That’s the most _Steve_ -like I’ve heard my brother sound in years,” Bucky said. “Progress, Tony. Bet on it.”

“Tony!” Peter’s voice cut through everything else, prompting Tony to stuff the phone back in his pocket, and drop down to scoop Peter up into his arms. “Where have you _been_?”

“I’m sorry, cupcake, I was saying goodbye to Pepper and Rhodey,” Tony said, hoisting Peter up and balancing him on a hip, envying Steve’s ability to make it look like Peter weighed nothing at all when he carried him around.

Peter was pouting. “Daddy left without saying bye bye, and I couldn’t find you either.”

Tony was convinced all children were naturally gifted when it came to guilt, and manipulation. One tiny, wobbly lower lip, and Tony was ready to do whatever it took to make Peter smile again.

Sure, Steve could have said goodbye, but considering the state he’d been in, Tony was glad he’d opted to leave without seeing Peter. Everything had been right there on Steve’s face, and five-year old or not, Peter was no slouch when it came to reading people. Still, having to deal with the reality of Steve’s hasty departure had Tony wishing _he_ could go a few rounds with the heavy bag. Maybe he’d send Pepper and Rhodey a picture of Peter’s sad puppy face instead, make them suffer the wrath of a troubled preschooler.

“I know he did, Pete, and I’m sure he’s sorry about that. Your dad was upset, and needed to have a timeout so he could calm down.”

“Was he naughty?” Peter asked, his eyes wide, as if Tony had just blown his little mind wide open. Steve was so down on himself that Tony wondered if he had any idea how much Peter idolized him. Even the idea that his dad could do something to warrant a timeout had his little head spinning.

“No, not that kind of timeout,” Tony explained. “There was a misunderstanding, and some people thought your dad was naughty, even though he wasn’t. Your uncle Hawky’s with him right now, so I know he’s okay.”

Peter looked suspiciously like he might start bawling. “Tell daddy to come _back_ ,” Peter whined, flopping over to wrap his arms tightly around Tony. “Family hafta be together on Memorial Day.”

Whatever triumph had previously occupied Bucky’s face had vacated with haste once Peter had shown signs of being upset. He took a step closer, and rubbed a hand across Peter’s back, sharing a despairing look with Tony. “Hey Petey, how ‘bout Tony goes and gets your dad, and we help the grandpas clean up, and get ready for cake?”

Peter made an unhappy noise, and squeezed harder, prompting Tony to rock him, and kiss whatever bit of the little boy he could reach. “I won’t leave if you need me to stay,” Tony promised.

Sniffling, Peter pushed against Tony's shoulders so he could sit up in his arms again, his big brown eyes wet with tears. It was such a heartbreaking expression that Tony almost started crying right along with the little boy. “Can’t someone else go?” Peter asked, one fist rubbing at his eye.

Tony and Bucky each opened their mouths to answer, but Natasha beat them to it. “I’ve got this,” she said, and Tony’s mouth snapped shut in surprise, teeth clicking together loudly.

“Uh, are you sure you want to do that?” Tony asked sweetly, trying to ever so slightly murder Natasha with his eyes. While she’d seemed to honestly regret setting off the chain of events that had led to Steve leaving in the first place, Tony wasn’t thrilled over her being anywhere near Steve. Especially if the alternative was going himself, or sending Bucky. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Bruce will drive.”

Tony looked to Bucky for help, but he and Natasha were too busy having some sort of nonverbal conversation to pay any attention to him. Whatever he saw prompted Bucky to shake his head, shrug, and step aside as if to let Natasha pass.

“Don’t worry, _lapochka_ , I’ll have your daddy back before you know it,” Natasha promised, leaning in close to kiss Peter’s damp cheek. She followed this up with a quick press of lips against Tony’s cheek, as well, adding, “I need to do this,” in Russian.

“Okay,” Tony agreed, resigning himself to waiting. “Hurry up, or me and Peter are eating your slice of cake.”

Peter nodded his agreement, before settling back against Tony’s shoulder. With a sigh, Tony set him back down, back crying out in protest. “Come on, my little lab partner. Let’s help your grandpas clean up while we wait.”

Even though he still looked bummed out, Peter didn’t argue, just sniffled again, and grabbed Tony’s hand. Bucky slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders, the three of them taking their time as they headed for the rest of the group, Sam holding his hands up as if to ask where the hell everyone had gone.

“Long story,” Tony said, jerking his head toward Bucky. “He can catch you up.”

As the two headed off, Tony heard Sam ask, “Why am I always the last to know what’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” Dum Dum said, giving Tony a pat on the shoulder. “It’ll all work itself out. Give it a little time.”

Tony could only hope Steve’s dad was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Ladies & gents, you've all blown me away with the amazing comments this week! I think I broke many of you, and I apologize for that. But, I'm absolutely thrilled by how emotionally invested people are in this story. It kind of consumes all my waking moments, and the fact that others care as well is really, really gratifying. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for letting me play with your feels. (That sounds dirty.) It really was an evil cliffhanger, and I feel bad about that (sorta), but hopefully this week we're ending slightly less crushingly? 
> 
> Pepper and Rhodey might need a minute to calm down and think, so don't be surprised if they're in a better position to have an actual conversation with Tony about what they did. No worries! There won't be any sort of Civil War in this universe, so friendships will not be crushed into dust. Also, expect more details on Natasha's part in this whole mess in the next chapter. ;D
> 
> Speaking of the next chapter... *shifty eyes* Man I wish #SonofStark was a real thing, so I could go look at photos of Tony & Peter being adorable together. Meanwhile, if you need some eyecandy, rineechan over on tumblr [found a gif set of RDJ](http://finely-honed.tumblr.com/post/142631398172/all-the-thanks-to-rineechan-for-spotting-this) that is all the faces Tony would have been making during his conversation with Team Tony. Enjoy!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a moment to shift his perspective, and finds it troubling. Natasha and Steve have a little talk about the past, and then about what happened at the BBQ. Added bonus, Steve finds out about #SonofStark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Potential Trigger Warning:**
> 
> While discussing the actions of that fateful morning, Steve and Natasha touch on aspects of restraint, and experiences that colored perceptions of what was taking place. There is nothing graphic, but if you've experienced physical assault, you might want to be prepared for the topic to come up.

As he approached his car, Steve took stock of his emotional state. The simple act of letting Tony know what was going on had helped far more than he’d expected. While he was still upset, and admittedly reeling, Steve’s hands were no longer shaking, his heart had calmed itself, and panic felt far away.

Even though he was confident in his ability to drive without issue, Steve wasn’t willing to risk anyone else’s safety by getting behind the wheel. At the moment he was keeping it together, but for all he knew, the panic would make a comeback while he was on the road. A train would be quicker than walking, but the idea of surrounding himself with that many people while as on edge as he was feeling sounded like a nightmare to Steve.

With that in mind, Steve kept walking right on past the car, prompting a groan from somewhere behind him. “Aww, Steve. We’re not running there, are we?” Clint whined. A second later, he was at Steve’s elbow.

“I wasn’t aware _we_ were doing anything,” Steve answered, but there was no heat behind the words. Clint snorted, and adjusted his pace to be able to keep up with Steve’s long, purposeful strides. “No, we’re not running.”

“Thank fuck. I ate _way_ too many hot dogs to run,” Clint said, rubbing his stomach, “and they do not taste as good the second time ‘round.”

Despite everything, Steve chuckled at this. “I’ll be okay if you want to head back to my folks’.”

“Nah. Tony’ll be able to focus on other shit if he knows you’ve got backup if you need it.”

Steve reached over and squeezed Clint’s shoulder, a wave of warmth and appreciation washing over him. Not only for himself, but for the heartfelt consideration Clint and the rest of his family had consistently shown for Tony since he’d come into Steve’s life. They’d been doing everything possible to make Tony feel welcomed and supported, even back when Steve’s head had been shoved firmly up his own ass.

“Thanks, Clint.”

They walked in silence for a couple blocks, until Steve couldn’t take the noise in his head any longer, and opened his mouth. “Logically, I get where Tony’s friends are coming from,” he said as they waited to cross the street. “I don't want to get into any of it, but there's history there that would give Potts and Rhodes cause for concern. To top it off, Tony never told them about that morning, so they thought I was pressuring him to keep quiet. I don’t think they even knew about the PTSD diagnosis until today.”

“Really?” Clint squinted up at him, then his eyes went wide. “Wait, so how did they… Oh, shit, _really_? Come on, that’s not Tasha’s style, Cap.”

“I didn’t think so either,” Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat, “but they were huddled together before I went inside. She had to have said _something_ to provoke them.”

The light changed, which was good, because it meant they were moving again. Steve tried and failed to think his way through what had happened, frustration warring with despair. “Whatever Natasha said made them think I assaulted Tony,” he managed, tears stinging his eyes. “If that’s… Clint, if that’s what happened—”

“Nope, stop,” Clint interrupted, picking up his pace so he could keep up with Steve’s steady clip. “Something had to get lost in translation. Yeah, the whole scene was fucked up, but me and Buck would’ve heard if anything like _that_ happened.”

“How can you be sure?” Steve asked, not caring how desperate he sounded. “I’ve spent the last month trying to get Tony to talk to me about it, and he can’t. What if it’s because… Clint, _what did I do_?”

Because if Tony’s friends were right, then Steve wasn’t sure what his next course of action was meant to be. Stay in the relationship, even though there was the potential for him to become violent without even knowing it was happening? How could he let Tony subject himself to that sort of environment? And what about Peter? What if Steve lost touch with reality and hurt his son?

“Okay, this looks bad,” Clint said, interrupting his spiraling thoughts, “but there’s gotta be more going on.”

Oddly enough, it was the thought of Peter being in danger that brought Steve's wild thoughts skidding to a halt. Steve took a deep, shaky breath as he thought of the two of them together, the very first time Peter and Tony had met. Even in his state of emotional turmoil, Steve had been immediately comforted by the understanding that Peter was _safe_ with Tony. If anything violent had taken place between them, Steve was confident Tony would have handled that morning very differently. Whatever Tony’s friends thought, Steve couldn't imagine him volunteering to stay in a relationship where he felt unsafe, and there was no way Tony wouldn’t intervene in some capacity if he thought Peter was going to have to deal with a ticking time bomb of a father.

“I think you're right,” Steve said with a certainty. “Tony wouldn't risk Peter’s safety.”

Clint huffed in relief, slapping Steve on the back. “Nope, not a chance in hell. So there you go.”

A good bit of the fear Steve had been under the grips of dissipated, leaving him shaken, and confused, but slightly less despondent. Potts and Rhodes hadn't gotten their information from Tony, and while Natasha had been there for some of that morning, there was a lot she’d missed. And as close as she and Tony had grown, Steve had a hard time believing Tony had given her a play by play of whatever had transpired prior to her arrival on the scene.

The awful sense of betrayal churned away in Steve's chest, making him feel queasy. Why the hell would Natasha hold his hand, give him a reason to hope, and then turn around and sic Potts and Rhodes on him? None of it made sense.

“Fuck it,” Steve snapped, coming to a decision.

Clint almost stumbled. “Uh… Wait, what're we fucking?”

“This, all of it. I refuse to believe Natasha meant for any of that to happen,” Steve said with conviction. “If she tells me so, that's different. I've got too much real shit on my plate; there's no point in driving myself crazy over ‘what if’ scenarios. I did that for years, and it got me nowhere.”

Clint’s surprise was palpable, but when Steve risked a glance, he found his friend grinning ear to ear. And the strangest thing was, even though he felt like shit, Steve smiled back. He still had no answers, but the simple decision to trust Natasha, and discount the harsher accusations Potts and Rhodes had thrown at his feet was incredibly liberating. Maybe it was naive of him, but for the first time in a long time, Steve felt comfortable going with his gut.

Whatever had happened the morning of his breakdown, he and Tony would get through it together, just as they’d planned. Only, Steve had come to the realization that they’d passed the point of no return. He’d tried the hands off approach, prioritizing Tony’s comfort over his own ability to make progress in both understanding and dealing with his breakdown, but now Steve _needed_ to know what had happened. He had no intentions of making demands, but it wasn’t fair to either of them for Steve to pretend he was comfortable being left in the dark. If he explained the reasons _why_ he needed to know, Tony would understand where he was coming from.

Really, that left Steve with all the issues he’d already been tackling, plus the sad new reality of being hated by Tony’s family.

“Looks like they’re closed for the holiday,” Clint said as they arrived at their destination.

Steve fished into his pocket, and pulled out his keys, shaking them in the air before unlocking the door.

Clint stared at him hard, then scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Do I even wanna know why you have keys to this place?”

“The owner’s also former Special Forces,” Steve explained, pushing his way inside before holding the door for Clint. “Project DELTA, back in the sixties. Knows a thing or two about having trouble sleeping. He gave me a set of keys a while back.”

Steve hit a couple of the lights on the way in, then shrugged out of his jacket, happy that they’d have the place to themselves. “I just need to grab some things from my locker. Make yourself at home.”

By the time Steve returned, Clint had found a chair somewhere, and was slouched in it with the whole thing tipped back, balancing on two legs as he fiddled with his phone. For no reason whatsoever, it made Steve feel better, as if Clint’s relaxation was some sort of sign that everything was going to be okay.

Silly as it seemed on the surface, Steve felt like there was something else going on there, and so he tried to think it through as he stripped down to his undershirt, and wrapped his hands. The last time Steve had been going off the rails, Clint had been calm in the way he used to get in hairy combat situations. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he wasn’t taking things seriously, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Clint was laser focused in those moments, and usually a few steps ahead of the rest, ready to anticipate and react accordingly.

As Steve moved from one hand to the other, Clint yawned, and swung his legs, so that the chair rocked back and forth precariously. They might as well have been in the shop, killing some time before the next appointment. Which meant Clint really _wasn’t_ expecting to have to do anything other than keep Steve company, and provide Tony with some peace of mind.

“Thanks for tagging along.”

Clint gave him a thumbs up, although he kept his eyes focused on his phone. “No prob, Cap. You’d do the same for any of us.”

“Yes, I would,” Steve said.

As he worked through his typical warm-up routine, Steve’s stomach fluttered uncomfortably, eyes stinging again with tears. Some of it was simply Memorial Day, while the rest was tangled up in his guilt, and everything else that had to do with his mental health, and the feeling that everything he’d worked for was teetering on the brink of destruction.

Clint’s words had made him think of earlier in the day, talking with Natasha, and trying to explain how _tired_ he was of feeling guilty. The truth was, if any of them came to him needing help, Steve would do everything in his power to be there for his friends and family. It felt like he’d always been that way, only at some point the lines had blurred to the extent that, rather than doing so out of love, Steve had accepted it as his sole purpose in life.

Slow as he was on the uptake, Dr. Coulson's carefully constructed criticisms of his approach were beginning to sink in for Steve. At some point, it had stopped having anything to do with love, and selflessness, and a lot more to do with atonement, obligation, and _hiding_. Taking care of everyone else meant Steve had no time or energy to look after himself, which was a healthy thing to do, apparently. Even if he felt like he didn’t deserve looking after. Maybe especially for that reason.

With a huff of frustration, Steve’s fist slammed forward, hitting the bag harder than he should. Forcing himself to take a breath, Steve checked his distance, adjusted his stance, and counted down from ten before starting over again, really focusing on his jabs. While he wasn’t going to be getting into a ring with anyone anytime soon, that was no reason to leave form by the wayside, and open himself up for injury.

By the time he fell into a comfortable rhythm, Steve’s blood was pumping, the sweat was flowing, and his head felt clearer.

At first, despite knowing it was morbidly self-indulgent, Steve envisioned _himself_ as the bag, and there was some perverse sort of joy to be found there. He hated that he’d somehow become the kind of man Tony’s family would feel the need to confront out of fear for their loved one’s safety. That didn’t sound anything like his idea of who Steve Rogers was.

Steve had no idea how long he unloaded, but at some point, the imaginary version of himself was bloodied and broken and on the ground, begging Steve to just _finish_ it already. Suddenly, the image was too sharp, too specific. There he was, back in uniform, wild eyed, and covered in his brother’s blood. In the hospital, a swarm of people had converged upon them, loading Bucky onto a gurney, and taking him away, while Steve’s body finally gave up on him. As he’d collapsed, Steve had caught sight of himself in the metal of the swinging doors, and thought, “I wonder what happened to him,” not realizing he was looking at his own reflection.

And there he was again in Steve’s mind, broken and dazed, shot and covered in his blood, and the blood of other people, and…

Gasping, Steve grabbed hold of the heavy bag, blinking rapidly as he tried to process everything he was thinking and feeling. Because, if he took a step back and thought of himself the same way he thought of the soldiers who had served under his command, the idea of blaming _Steve Rogers_ for what had transpired that day made no sense at all. He was a soldier—it wasn’t as if he’d had a _choice_ when it came to following orders. Yes, he was their Captain, which was why he’d argued and pleaded for hours, but at the end of the day, someone way up the chain of command had been hell bent on sending them right into the middle of a shitshow.

The enormity of that tiny shift in perspective was too much for Steve to handle. He all but staggered away from the heavy bag, and took a long drink of water, dragging a towel across his face as if he could scrub the thoughts away. Taking a handful of deep breaths, Steve forced everything out of his head, until he was left with only the sound of his own ragged breathing, and the pounding of his heart.

Feeling centered once again, Steve approached the heavy bag, and raised his fists. This time, as he fell into the familiar rhythm of jabs, it was with the confrontation with Tony’s friends at the forefront of his mind. He replayed their words over and over, fists striking steadily, the empty gym echoing with the impacts. There was no satisfaction to be found in beating himself up over how that had played out, either. It wasn’t that Steve was feeling sorry for himself, but more that the anger churning up in his chest was on _Tony’s_ behalf.

“What the hell?” Steve huffed after a minute or two, not realizing he’d said it out loud until Clint replied with, “I know, right?”

Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Steve stopped thinking, and started talking. “Tony’s one of the strongest, smartest, bravest, and most capable people I know,” he said, striking the bag. “I get being worried about him, but how the hell does going after me like _that_ help Tony?”

“Uh, no idea, man.”

“They don't even know me,” Steve grunted. “What if I was suicidal? Or actually the kind of dangerous, abusive scumbag they seem to think I am? That could have put Tony right in the middle of a dangerous situation!”

The bag rocked from the steady impact of Steve's fists, his irritation growing exponentially the longer he thought through what had happened. “They saw how happy he was yesterday,” Steve pointed out, “and it's obvious that Tony loves Peter. Did they actually expect me to just agree with them and cut Tony out of our lives, whether he wants us gone or not? I still don’t understand how the hell that _helps_ him.”

“Doesn't seem like it would, really.”

“I know I'm a fuck up, but that's… They're acting like Tony's a child, or incapable of living his life without their supervision!”

Steve had no real idea of how long he ranted to Clint, only that the steady flow of words leaving his mouth felt a hell of a lot better than beating himself up had. They felt more honest, as well. Tony's friends were entirely justified in their concern, and Steve was fully onboard with Tony having people in his life ready, willing, and able to step up to protect him, but any way you sliced it, the whole situation had been handled poorly.

Yes, he'd made mistakes. Yes, absolutely, he'd hurt Tony, and his PTSD was no kind of excuse for that, but at the same time, that didn't automatically mean Potts and Rhodes were justified in their actions. Steve hadn't been aware of what he was doing for the morning in question. Tony’s friends didn't have the same excuse. They should have gone to _Tony_ , actually made sure he was okay, and safe, offered him some _actual_ support, and love, and…

“So, what's the plan?” Clint asked, derailing Steve's train of thought.

“Other than asking Tony how he'd like to handle things, and supporting him?”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, boss. I mean, they're the closest you're getting to in-laws. Shit could get awkward.”

Steve steadied the bag, steadied himself, taking a deep breath, and exhaling slowly. The answer seemed obvious. “The plan’s the same as it's always been. Make sure Tony’s happy.”

“Right, but—”

“Not at my own expense,” Steve added, pushing his sweat soaked hair off of his brow as he walked away from the heavy bag. “Tony wouldn't put up with that, anyway. I'm gonna keep doing what I've been doing, putting in the work.”

Clint nodded, a small smile hovering around the corners of his mouth as he scratched behind his ear. “Good plan is good. And if Tony being over the moon happy happens to make ‘em look like jackasses—”

“Hey, the best revenge is living well,” Steve said, grinning. “Besides, the last thing I want is Tony feeling like he has to play referee between me and his family. That's not fair to anyone, especially him.”

Steve swung his arms, then rolled his shoulders, contemplating a round or two with the speed bag. He was feeling loose and relaxed, and far better than he'd expected. Group could wait until the following day, but he wasn't quite ready to leave the safe little bubble of the gym.

“Best possible outcome, this time next year we’re all together again, only Tony's friends realize he's happy, healthy, and that they don't have anything to worry about.”

Clint perked up in a manner entirely reminiscent of Lucky when someone showed up with pizza, which was all the warning Steve had before Natasha sauntered into the room. Steve felt his heart trip in his chest, but not from shock, or anger. He hadn't realized it until seeing her, but some part of Steve had been hoping Natasha would show up.

“Hey, Tasha,” Clint said, glancing at Steve, who nodded his consent. Clint swung the chair back on two legs again before rocking the whole thing forward, hopping out of the chair and landing on his feet with the sort of easy fluidity that Steve had always envied. “Does this mean I don't hafta walk back?”

“Bruce is waiting outside, if you want to keep him company,” Natasha said, approaching Steve. “We shouldn't be too long.”

Steve arched an eyebrow at this, but nodded again, returning the salute Clint tossed his way before focusing entirely on Natasha.

“I hope this is okay,” she said, sounding hesitant where before there had only been confidence. There was a lot going on in her eyes, but anger was nowhere to be found.

“Sure,” Steve answered. He draped the towel across his shoulders, and flexed his hands, wanting to keep his fingers from stiffening. “I'm, ah, actually glad you're here.”

Natasha didn't bother to hide her surprise. “Even after what went down in the kitchen?”

Steve's heart kicked into overdrive, stomach plummeting, but he wasn't giving up hope yet. “I don't remember you being there for that.”

“But you know I had something to do with it.”

She hadn't phrased it as a question, had her eyes averted as she scanned the room, head tilted to the side while she dragged her fingertips across the back of the chair Clint had vacated, looking for all the world as if she was bored. Steve knew better, though.

“I do,” Steve answered honestly, “but unless you tell me otherwise, I refuse to believe you _wanted_ them to ambush me.”

Natasha's eyes flicked his way, and Steve didn't miss the gratitude mixed in with the surprise.

“Come on, Tasha,” he said, “I know you, and that's not your style.”

“Hm.” Steve watched Natasha swallow, already calming back down, because now he knew he'd been right to believe in her. “I'm glad _someone_ in this friendship remembered to give the other person the benefit of the doubt.”

Sighing, Steve tugged on the ends of his towel, and took a few steps closer. “Was Tony doing okay when you left?”

“He's understandably upset, but yeah, I think he's okay. Told Pepper and Jim to clear out.”

Steve winced. “Damn.”

“Tony handled himself just fine.”

“Yeah, but he shouldn't have to ‘handle’ himself with his friends at all,” Steve said, swiping his palm across his face. The guilt was already making a comeback. “It's not fair that he was put in that position because of me.”

Natasha cleared her throat. “This one’s not on you, Steve. Not really. Our talk this morning…”

She didn't seem inclined to finish the sentence, and Steve wondered if he'd somehow managed to make things worse, all while trying to reconnect with her. “I'm sorry if I said too much, or if you thought I was trying to make excuses.”

“That's the thing,” Natasha said, and her eyes were bright and wet when she looked up. “This is… We _knew_ you had PTSD, Steve. We all tried in our own way to guide you toward getting the help you needed.”

Steve sucked in a breath, and had the sudden impulse to return to the heavy bag. Shame and guilt clawed at him, leaving him feeling sick, and tired. “I know, Tasha. I fucked up. I should have—”

“Stop!”

Natasha's voice echoed through the building, the sharpness cutting off Steve's words more effectively than a slap to the face would have done. Natasha didn't raise her voice often—didn't need to—and the shock of it had Steve wishing he'd asked Clint to stick around. He closed his mouth as he watched Natasha hide her face behind her hands, and that was most definitely fear clenching at Steve with it’s cold hands, down deep in his guts.

“I need you to listen,” Natasha said, pointing at him, and then the chair.

“Okay,” Steve agreed, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He tossed the towel aside, then took a seat, hands gripping his knees as he attempted to remain calm. “I’m listening.”

As Natasha gathered her thoughts, Steve tried to decipher her body language, and the open, defeated expression she was wearing. It made a little more sense when she reached around behind her, beneath the jacket of her uniform, and pulled an almost empty bottle out of seemingly nowhere. With a sigh, Natasha chucked it across the room, the glass ringing loudly as it landed in a trashcan Steve hadn’t even noticed was there. He was tempted to suggest they wait until she’d sobered up before talking, but Steve was pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion, so he kept his mouth shut and waited.

“That mission changed us,” Natasha said, finally meeting his eyes. “None of us walked away unscathed. We _all_ struggled with the aftermath.”

Immediately, Steve wanted to interrupt her in order to apologize. Yes, they’d all struggled, but the rest of his team had gotten help, while he’d let everything spiral out of control. There was the familiar weight of shame and guilt pressing down on him again, making it hard to breathe. If he’d only gotten help earlier, like _they_ had, Tony never would have been hurt, Peter would never have been at risk of losing his father, only Steve was too—

“With their injuries, Bucky and Clint almost didn’t have a choice over going into therapy,” Natasha continued. Steve pushed at his thoughts, focused on listening. He owed Natasha his full attention, and so much more. “We would’ve dragged their asses there if they tried to pretend everything was fine.”

Steve nodded his agreement, because she was right. He’d have carried Bucky there if need be, and Tasha would have done the same for Clint. That’s just the way it was.

“I didn’t know what I was going to do,” Natasha said after a prolonged silence, the vulnerability in her voice making Steve’s heart ache. She nodded to herself, then raised her head, pinned Steve with her eyes. “The Army was my life. There wasn’t _supposed_ to be an after.”

He knew exactly how _that_ felt. Steve had been in the same position as Natasha, had even convinced himself he should head back into the thick of things, knowing he’d likely be following in Joseph Rogers’ footsteps. Luckily, Bucky had talked some sense into him, but once Steve realized returning wasn’t an option, he’d freaked the hell out. The idea of opening the tattoo shop had occurred to him during one of his late night runs, and Steve had latched onto it with everything he had left.

Natasha was watching him as if she could see what he was thinking, and for all Steve knew, she could, because the next thing she said was, “Then you came to me with your plan for the shop, and suddenly I _had_ something again. We’d get to stay together, doing something we loved, and not even have to deal with people shooting at us.”

Despite everything, Steve laughed at this, then scrubbed a hand over his face as if to take it back. He wasn’t sure where Natasha was going with the conversation. He loved the shop, loved every single minute he got to spend there working with Clint and Natasha, or passing the time with Bucky. They’d all made so many memories together that it felt like home to Steve. Only… only he wasn’t really _welcome_ there anymore, not by everyone. The understanding that he’d ruined something so special for Natasha and Clint as well as himself brought tears to Steve’s eyes.

“ _You_ did that for us, Captain,” Natasha said, and Steve exhaled shakily, the tears finally making their escape. “And every time I knocked on your door at some crazy hour, or called you up, you were there for me. Shit, Steve, you’re the reason I got help for _my_ PTSD. We might have left the Army, but you never stopped looking out for all of us, not for a minute.”

Steve looked up at Natasha, and was surprised to see she was crying as well. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, straightening up in his chair, waiting for the rest of what she had to say. How he’d thrown that closeness away by not understanding what they’d all been trying to show him for years. How he’d let them down, or made a mockery of the trust they’d put in him.

Natasha laughed, but there was no mirth to be found in the sound. Her hair seemed to absorb the light in the room, leaving her with a glowing halo, before she pinned him with her eyes again.

“You don’t know where I’m going with any of this, do you?”

“I have an idea,” Steve croaked. “That… That I ruined all of it?” he asked, voice breaking. “Everyone else put in the work, and got better, and I… I _didn’t_ , and now—”

“Stop,” Natasha said, rushing forward and holding onto his shoulders hard enough to make Steve wince. “ _Listen_ to me. Even while you were hurting, you looked out for us, and made sure we got the help we needed. But _we_ didn’t do the same for you.”

Steve sucked in a mouthful of air, feeling like he’d been suckerpunched, because that—

Natasha shook him. “Captain, you were wounded, and we _left you behind_.”

“Tasha, stop, that’s not true—”

“Bull _shit_ , it’s not! Sam and Bucky were right about not being able to force you into therapy, but there’s plenty we could have done— _should_ have done—to make sure you got professional help.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, wanted to put his hands over his ears, the entire idea of it leaving him sick to his stomach.

“Look at me,” Natasha barked, and Steve did, even though he didn’t want to. “This morning, when you told me about what Tony had said—the thing with the hole—I started thinking, and then I couldn't stop. Captain, you _never_ would have left any of us down at the bottom, whether we were being stubborn about climbing or not. Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

“It’s _different_ ,” Steve insisted, not sure how he was supposed to explain the distinction to Natasha when he didn’t even really understand himself. But it _was_. It _had_ to be.

“Bullshit,” she repeated, shaking him. “How is it different, Steve? Tell me.” Natasha shook him again, her expression furious. “Tell me!”

“Because I _deserved_ to be down there!” Shouted as they were, the words seemed to echo through the gym, bouncing back at him distorted, and Steve felt the panic beginning to creep in. The words were out there now, with no way to be taken back, so he might as well barrel onward. “ _I'm_ the reason Bucky was in the Army in the first place, _I’m_ the reason we got singled out for Special Forces, and _I_ was responsible for all of you! I shouldn’t have let—”

“Damn it, Steve, you’re not some kind of superhero,” Natasha interrupted. “Don’t you remember debriefing me after the orders came down? I know for a fact that you spent half the day arguing logistics with the higher-ups, poking holes in their inaccurate intel, but it didn't matter. We all know how it works, and we all understood the risks when we signed up to have people shoot at us for a living. There was nothing you could have done, so stop shouldering the blame for things that were outside of your control!”

Instantly, Steve’s mind dragged him back into the memory of seeing and not recognizing his own wounded reflection, the imagery leaving him reeling. Hadn't he come to the same seemingly sacrilegious conclusion earlier, only to push it aside in a panic? Now it was as if Natasha had reached right into his head, and dragged those thoughts back out into the open to rub his nose in them, and Steve couldn't understand why it had to _hurt_ so much.

“Steve,” she said, her voice softer, and when she ran a hand over the top of his head, he had no choice but to look her in the eyes. “I don't know about anyone else, but it wasn't until this morning that I realized how far down that hole you were. How the hell were you even supposed to know climbing out was an option if you thought you _deserved to be down there_?”

A sob escaped, despite Steve’s best efforts to contain the pathetic sound.

“Today, during the parade, somewhere in there I caught myself thinking, ‘I missed talking to Steve.’ And then it hit me.” Natasha snapped her fingers beside her head, eyes wide and serious. “I'd gotten so used to who you'd become, I forgot what it was like talking with _Steve_. The Steve from _before_ that mission.”

Natasha’s words felt like a punch to the head, like they’d knocked everything loose, so he didn’t have a chance of stopping the realizations from forming, lightening fast. She was _right_. Natasha had to be right, because even though the depression was still there, tangled up tight with his guilt and shame, and none of his problems had been magically resolved, _something_ was different. If Natasha had so much as mentioned their shitshow of a mission last Memorial Day, Steve would have shut down, would have done everything possible to keep his thoughts from heading into unsafe territory. That way led to back-to-back days of sleeplessness, would have left Steve haunted by the smell of blood, and consumed by fear, and panic, and sorrow.

Maybe it was the antidepressants, or the therapy, or both; he and Dr. Coulson had spent so much time going over and over all of the things Steve had spent _years_ trying to avoid thinking about, that even though it hurt to remember, somehow those memories were slowly losing their hold over him. Or maybe it was the gift that was having Tony in his life, the entire act of sharing something loving and intimate with someone, and being loved in return. Whatever it was, for the first time in a long time, Steve actually felt _alive_. But it was more than that. He wanted to _have_ a life, a future, to be greedy, and take something for himself. Steve wanted everything he’d been convinced he didn't deserve, and then some. And, more than anything, he wanted to share all of it _with Tony_.

“I'm so sorry, Steve,” Natasha said. “I let you down when you needed me the most.”

Steve gave up, and let himself cry, no longer capable of doing anything else. Natasha pulled him in close, tucking her chin atop his head, as she held on tight.

“They’re wrong about you, Steve,” Natasha said into his hair. “I know how hard you’re fighting, and I’m _so proud_ of you.”

Unable to help himself, Steve grabbed fistfuls of her uniform, and held on for dear life. Natasha stroked his hair, down over his shoulders, and back, while Steve wept. At some point, the tears ran out, and he rocked himself free of Natasha's embrace, feeling raw and almost hollowed out. He wiped at his face, momentarily confused to find his hands were taped up—he'd forgotten they were in the gym.

“Shit,” Steve sniffled. “Sorry I cried all over you.”

Natasha shrugged. “Don’t apologize. Crying is cathartic. Better out than in, right?” Steve nodded, and then Natasha cleared her throat. “About what happened to Tony.”

“I _hurt_ him, Tasha,” Steve moaned, wiping at his face.

“I know, baby,” Natasha said, “but you didn’t know what you were doing. You're getting better now. It's never going to happen again. Okay?”

Steve nodded, oddly reassured.

“You deserve to know what happened. I was so mad at you, and what I thought you'd become, that I didn't stop to really think through why it was bothering me so much until today. Do you remember Wilcox?”

“Wilcox…” Steve sank back in his seat, still trying to rein in his wild emotions, as he scoured his memory. “Yeah, he was court-martialed. I forget the sentence, but he got a dishonorable discharge, right?”

Natasha wrapped her arms around herself, and nodded, eyes flashing darkly. “I'm part of the reason why.”

Steve sat up straighter, cold washing through him, because he'd heard the rumors about why Wilcox had been carted off by the MPs. “Oh my god, Natasha, did he—”

“No,” she interrupted. There was a viciousness to her expression. “He planned to, though. I woke up with him on top of me, didn’t know what was happening. We struggled, and I made him regret trying.”

Steve felt sick to his stomach, reached for her, then pulled his hands back, unsure of how to offer comfort for something of that magnitude. “I had no idea you were involved.”

“That's how I wanted it,” Natasha snapped. “There were hardly any women when I joined, and misogyny was SOP. You couldn't show weakness and expect to survive.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Natasha shook her head sharply, and he closed it again.

“I had to be able to protect _myself_. I couldn't count on other people being there to protect me.”

Steve nodded, the sickness still holding him tightly, making it hard to breathe. “Wilcox’s broken arm,” Steve said, scouring his memory, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I might have also stabbed him,” Natasha admitted, her expression dark. “I was lucky. At least two other women weren’t.”

“I'm so sorry that happened to you,” Steve said, grimacing. “Jesus, Tasha. I can't imagine what you went through… _any_ of it.”

Because even after defending herself, Steve knew Natasha would have spent the rest of her time on high alert, knowing that she could be targeted for retaliation by Wilcox’s friends. And even without that as a factor, it was entirely possible she’d find herself unable to count on the soldier standing beside her, simply because she was a woman, and they thought she had no place in war. That didn't even touch on the horrific wrongness of the event itself, and the impact it would have on her entire world. The idea that an animal like Wilcox had ever been allowed to wear the same uniform as Natasha made Steve’s skin crawl. Steve hated that he hadn't known anything, and therefore hadn’t been able to support her while she was dealing with the aftermath of living through that nightmare.

“They gave me the option to leave,” Natasha shifted uncomfortably, “but why the fuck should I be the one to leave while misogynist fuckheads stick around and disgrace the uniform?”

“Wait, is that why you were reassigned?”

“Yes. Thankfully, things got better once you and I met,” she said, surprising Steve. “You, Clint, Bucky… you all acted like I belonged there.”

“Because you did,” Steve said, unable to help himself. “You’re one of the best, Natasha. We were lucky to have you.”

Natasha smiled. “You know, for a good six months I thought you were only treating me like an equal in order to get laid.”

“You're shitting me?” Steve blurted, and Natasha laughed.

“I was in a weird headspace,” she explained, “so it took a minute before I realized that not only were you being sincere, you were also _incredibly_ gay.”

He snorted, felt himself blushing at the memory of Natasha catching him rather painfully flirting with Jake Browning, the boy from East Tennessee. Steve blinked his surprise when Natasha tucked a finger under his chin to make him look up again.

“Brave, too. Selfless. Dedicated. You actually embody everything I've always loved about the Army. You were there for all the right reasons, held yourself and everyone around you to a higher standard. And you made me _proud_ to serve again, Captain. After Wilcox attacked me, it was like everything we stood for had been _poisoned_. But you changed that, just by being yourself, and I won't ever be able to thank you enough, Steve.”

There weren't words for how hearing that made Steve feel, so he reached for Natasha's hand, relieved when she took it, and squeezed.

“It was an honor and a privilege to serve with you, Natasha.”

“Likewise.” Natasha's grip tightened. “The only reason I’m talking about any of this is because of what happened with Tony. I saw him struggling, and you weren't letting go.” She swallowed, and shook her head. “It was like seeing you _become_ Wilcox. It fucked me up, Steve. I know it's not the same, but…”

“But I'm bigger than him,” Steve rasped once it was clear she wouldn’t be finishing the sentence, “and stronger. And used that against Tony, when he wanted me to stop. _Shit_.” He wanted to throw up. “God, Natasha, I'm—”

“Steve, stop. Tony was right,” she interrupted. “You were checked out, and after… Like I said, I knew it wasn't the same. Not at all. Even when you were literally out of your mind, you _carried_ Tony—you were trying to get away, not hurt him.”

“I still used my strength _against_ him,” Steve moaned.

“Stop,” Natasha repeated softly, and then she was petting his hair again. “You're nothing like that piece of shit, or Howard Stark, or any of Tony's questionable exes. You’d never hurt Tony, and I’m sorry I ever doubted that. You're still one of the bravest people I’ve ever known, Steve. The way you’ve handled yourself since the breakdown is proof enough of that.” Natasha made sure he was looking her in the eyes, then added, “You're still the Steve Rogers who made me proud to wear this uniform.”

Sucking in a stuttering breath, Steve continued to look up into her eyes, surprised by the amount of love and concern he found waiting for him there. “I want to argue with you,” he managed, “but Dr. Coulson says I need to stop going out of my way to… to vilify myself.”

“Good,” Natasha said. “You've got to save your strength for climbing, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Steve croaked, sitting up straighter.

“We’re all here for you if you get tired, and need us to carry you some of the way,” Natasha said.

The desire to curl up somewhere quiet with Peter and Tony was sudden, and sharp. Exhaustion was creeping in around the edges, and Steve wondered how long he'd been away from them. It felt like _days_ had past since they were sharing their morning together, a sleepy Tony leaning against Steve’s shoulder as he drank his first cup of coffee of the day. Peter eating his oatmeal, and talking excitedly about seeing his aunts, uncles, and grandpas. Steve missed them so much in that moment, it was physically painful.

“For the record, I was trying to tell Bruce that we should knock off the whole cold shoulder routine,” Natasha said. “I didn't know Pepper and Jim were in the dark about what happened, and so when Bruce and I started going back and forth about it, they only got part of the story, and not even coherently. Next thing I know, they're gone, and…”

Natasha shook her head, expression grim. “I'd been drinking. That's not an excuse, but I would've made the connections quicker if I'd been sober. When I saw you, I realized what they'd been up to, but by then it was too late. I cornered them, wanting to know what they'd said to you, and the next thing I know, Tony's dragging us into the house, and the enormity of my fuck up is slowly sinking in.”

“Are you and Tony okay?” Steve asked. He knew how close they'd grown, and hated to think his problems had spilled over enough to contaminate what they'd built together.

“I think so,” Natasha answers, sighing. “He and Bucky trusted me to be the one to come get you, so that's promising.”

“Bucky didn't—”

“No,” Natasha laughed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thankfully, Tony had Dum Dum keep him occupied.”

Steve swallowed, and took a breath before asking the question. “And us? Are we okay?”

“I want us to be,” Natasha answered, looking him in the eyes. “It would be an honor to call you my friend again.”

“I want that, too,” Steve said without hesitation. “You're one of my best friends, Tasha. And for what it's worth, I was proud of you for holding me to a higher standard.”

Natasha opened her arms, and Steve accepted it for the invitation it was, standing up before hugging her, his heart pounding happily in his chest. “I missed you,” he said into her hair.

“I missed you, too,” Natasha said, clearing her throat. “Okay, we better go before we both start crying again.”

Steve laughed, and headed for his discarded towel, unwrapping his hands along the way. He felt like he’d been put through the ringer, but at the same time, there was an unfamiliar lightness in his head and heart, which was definitely not how he’d expected to be feeling after leaving the barbeque.

“Besides, I promised Peter and Tony I'd bring you back soon. There's cake riding on it, Steve. Chop chop.”

The thought of his family had Steve smiling as he picked up the pace. “Alright, then, let's not keep ‘em waiting.”

After as quick a shower as he could possibly manage, Steve got back in his uniform, sans undershirt, made a pass through the gym to make sure everything was as it should be, and then locked up after himself.

There was a tense moment as he approached the car, but after sliding out of the driver’s seat, Bruce circled around to apologize. Steve accepted as magnanimously as possible, and they shook on it before getting on their way. Steve was pretty sure it would be a bit more complicated where Tony’s friends were concerned, but that was fine. He wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. It would happen eventually. Until then, he’d work on getting better, and keep doing his best to make Tony happy.

Intellectually, Steve knew it was a short car ride, but it felt like it took hours to get back to his folks’ place. Each minute stretched out painfully, until finally they arrived. Steve hardly let the car come to a stop before he was opening the back door, not sure why seeing Tony and Peter felt so urgent, and not particularly caring.

“Daddy!” Peter shrieked the moment he spotted Steve, and that was almost enough to set him off crying again.

Instead, he intercepted the speeding five-year old heading his way, scooping Peter up into his arms, and holding him tight. “Hi, baby,” he said, rocking Peter back and forth as they hugged.

“You went away without saying,” Peter whined, little arms squeezing tight. “I missed you _so much_.”

Steve breathed deeply, his eyes closed as he held his son. He gave Peter a big kiss on the cheek, said, “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left without telling you. I’m going to do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen again, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed. He wiggled around until he was tucked comfortably against Steve’s side, head resting on his shoulder, which was getting more difficult the older Peter got. For now though, Steve could still comfortably balance Peter on his hip, and hold him close.

“I promise I’m not mad, daddy,” Peter whispered into his ear, “so don’t be sad. Anyone who thinks you’re naughty is _wrong_.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, feeling slightly stunned as Peter squeezed him tight again. “I’m already feeling better.”

“I love you,” Peter said, no longer whispering. “You’re the best daddy ever.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to commit everything he was feeling in that moment to memory. Not only the wonderful, perfect weight of Peter in his arms, but the love and happiness filling his chest to bursting. “I love you, too, Peter. You’re the best _son_ ever.”

After a prolonged, blissful moment, Peter added, “Can we have cake now?”

The sound of Tony’s laughter made Steve’s heart feel like it had turned over in his chest. He tore his eyes away from Peter, not having to look far before he spotted Tony standing nearby, hands shoved in his pockets, an almost shy smile on his face, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“There you are,” Steve said, holding his free arm out, reaching for Tony. Thankfully, Tony seemed equally anxious to see him, and wasted no time rushing over. Steve pulled him into a hug, kissing Tony once, then twice, before Peter was leaning over to help by kissing Tony’s cheek. “That’s better,” Steve said. “How are you holding up?”

“Oh, doing just peachy.” Tony was grinning ear to ear, planted a revenge kiss on Peter’s cheek, before refocusing on Steve. “Everything okay on your end?” he asked, even managing to pull off nonchalant.

Steve took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, hand curled possessively around Tony’s hip. “Yeah. Better than expected, actually.”

Tony’s eyes widened slightly. “You and Natasha make up?”

Peter made a face at the French, and Steve spared a moment to wonder how long it would be before Pete started picking up the language in order to figure out what his parents were talking about. “We’re good. She had a lot to say, and as a result, I have a lot to think about. Can I catch you up later?”

“Sure,” Tony said, switching back to English. “I think _someone’s_ cake levels are dangerously low.”

“They’re talkin’ about me,” Clint said as he strolled past. “I could eat at least three pieces right now.”

“You better not, Unca Hawky,” Peter called, wriggling excitedly in Steve’s arms.

Smiling, Steve set Peter down, and watched him tear off after his uncle, shrieking happily as Clint evaded him. When he turned back to Tony, he couldn’t make sense of the look on his face. “Are you really doing okay? I’m sorry, I hate that I’ve made things awkward with you and your friends,” Steve said, meaning every word.

Tony blinked, and shook his head. “No, that’s not… Seriously? Steve, they’re the ones who should be apologizing. To both of us, actually. They stepped _way_ over the line with that shit. But whatever, it’s done, it happened. We’ll figure it out. But, ah, that’s not… Look, there’s something I have to tell you, and you’re going to hate it, and I _know_ , today has already been awful, but—”

“Tony, hey, calm down,” Steve said, taking Tony’s hand and tugging him a little further away from the group. “What’s wrong?”

Steve had no idea what he was expecting Tony to say, just that it wasn’t what actually came out of his mouth. “People spotted me with Peter at the parade, and it wound up on social media. There _might_ be a hashtag trending right now dedicated to ‘son of Stark,’ uh, because the internet has apparently decided Peter’s my secret love child.”

The more he repeated the words to himself, the less sense it made. Tony must have seen the confusion all over Steve’s face, because he started babbling again. “They think Peter’s the reason I got as far out of the limelight as physically possible,” he explained, “which has actually earned me all sorts of personality points in some circles. Now they’re building flowcharts and timetables trying to backtrack and figure out who the baby mamma is, and—”

Steve burst out laughing. Tony’s eyes widened in shock, which only made him laugh harder. Really, it wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. If someone had asked him earlier that morning how he would react to having the public discussing the paternity of his son on the internet, Steve would have guessed the answer would have been _freak out_. But after the day he’d had, it was hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it all, instead.

“I’m serious,” Tony whined, looking at him pleadingly, “you realize that right?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve swore, trying to stop from cracking up again. “I know, I know you’re serious. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Steve took a deep breath.

Tony was watching him as if he was waiting for Steve’s head to spin round the wrong way, or flames to shoot out of his eyes or something. “This isn’t going to go away.”

Steve wiped at his eyes, and shook his head. “I know, and I’m sorry. I _am_ taking this seriously, but it’s been one hell of a day, Tony. And right now, compared to what Tasha and I were talking about, and… and everything else I’ve been dealing with lately, this doesn’t seem like such a bad problem to have, you know?”

“Don’t worry, the awful reality of it will sink in later,” Tony said, mouth twisting to the side.

“Hey,” Steve said, cupping Tony’s face in his hands. “We’ll figure it out together, right? It was bound to happen sooner or later. I guess we were lucky it took this long.”

Tony nodded, blinking a bit too fast as he stared up at Steve. “Pepper and I know from experience that the best way to handle this kind of thing is to take control of it,” he explained, voice lowered. “The sooner we can put something out there to casually set the record straight without actually playing into the feeding frenzy, the better.”

The whole idea of social media made Steve want to wash his hands of the entire affair, but after everything Tony had gone through in order to help him—to help both of them get to where they had in their relationship—there was no way he intended to be anything but supportive. Tony understandably needed reassuring, had probably worried himself sick over what Steve’s reaction would be. Laughter probably hadn’t factored into any of Tony’s imagined scenarios.

Steve squared his shoulders. “Okay. Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Okay?” Tony asked, squinting. “You _do_ realize I’m talking about posting pictures of the three of us on the internet? We’ll need at least one of Peter with the two of us, so we can try to clarify parentage.”

Steve kept his eyes glued on Tony’s. “I understand. It makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t get why anyone feels the need to pry into the personal lives of strangers, but I also take the Pledge of Allegiance seriously, so what do I know?” This time it was Tony who laughed, albeit nervously. “I meant what I said the last time it came up. This isn’t a deal breaker, Tony.”

At this, Tony seemed to relax infinitesimally, which was _something_ , at least. “I don’t have to actually get accounts, and read what they’re saying, or talk to these people, do I?”

“No, definitely not,” Tony said, and Steve wondered if Tony had been worried Steve was going to get into fights with internet trolls. “We have people that get paid a salary to do that sort of thing. Clint and I have been talking strategy, too, since he handles the shop’s accounts, and might find himself flooded at some point.”

That was a relief. If it had to happen, Steve would rather be as far removed from the hullabaloo as possible, unless someone asked him to do otherwise. “Good. I’m sure you already said the same thing to Ms. Potts, but the less we can involve Peter, the better.”

Tony was nodding again, something like relief finally making it into his expression. “Yeah, that was probably the first thing out of my mouth when she called to talk it through.” Tony searched his face, chewing on his lower lip. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Frankly, it’s a small price to pay for getting to be with you, Tony,” Steve said, hoping Tony understood how much he meant the words. “I love you, and I trust you, so just tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it.”

The words had hardly left his mouth before Steve had an armful of Tony, hugging him tight. “Thank you,” Tony gushed, and Steve wrapped him up snugly, pressing a kiss to Tony’s neck as they held each other. “That’s such a relief.”

“I hope this means you two lovebirds are close to being done,” Jim called from across the yard, prompting Steve and Tony to step away from each other in surprise, “because if we don’t eat cake soon, there’s gonna be a revolt.”

“ _Da_ ddy, come on,” Peter whined, proving Jim’s point.

Steve took Tony by the hand, and started heading for the group, gently tugging Tony along behind him. “We better go before Peter has a meltdown.”

“Yeah, he reached his patience capacity about an hour ago,” Tony said.

There was a cheer as they finally made it over to the table, where Peter was standing up on the bench of the picnic table, looking as if he might actually climb onto the table and start grabbing fistfuls of cake if someone didn’t hand over a slice soon.

“All bottoms must be on the bench for cake,” Steve announced, picking him up and plopping him back down so Peter could be seated between him and Tony. “Thank you for being so patient with me today, Pete. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter answered, slouching over so his head was resting against Steve’s arm.

Bucky was seated on Steve’s right, and he wasted no time in wrapping his prosthetic arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him into a half hug. “Everything good?”

“Better than expected,” Steve answered quietly, returning the hug.

“Alright then. You can catch me up later if you want,” Bucky said, holding Steve’s gaze. “Seriously, Stevie, anytime you need to talk, yeah?”

“Thanks, Buck.”

Steve turned to face Tony, who had settled into the empty seat on the other side of Peter. He still looked a bit shocked, but happy. Seeing it made Steve’s chest swell with love, and so he reached around his son to squeeze Tony’s shoulder. A moment later, Steve was smiling his face off, as his family sang a belated version of the Happy Birthday song to a very flustered Tony before ultimately cutting the cake.

“How come I only get _one_ birthday cake and Tony gets two?” Peter wanted to know, but he let the question drop once a slice of Tony’s cake was placed in front of him, and he was finally allowed to dig in.

Steve let himself sink into the comforting warmth of being surrounded by his family again. He caught Natasha watching him, and sent a salute her way, feeling dangerously content. Knowing she was back in his corner was such a weight off his shoulders that it more than made up for the worm of discomfort caused by the understanding that dealing with Tony’s celebrity was likely going to be a source of stress for some time to come.

When they’d first met, the idea of public scrutiny had almost sent Steve running in the other direction. His imagination had gone a bit haywire, until in his mind he’d assaulted a camera wielding scumbag, lost custody of his son, while Tony moved on to someone more glamorous, and important, and worthy of being in his company.

Now, while he was just as concerned with his ability to keep his temper under control if someone shoved a camera in his face, Steve would be damned if he’d let something as stupid as the opinion of strangers keep him from being with the man he loved. After all, he’d managed to survive a far more personal confrontation with Potts and Rhodes, whose opinions actually mattered to him. Steve didn’t doubt there would be ugly speculation as to his intentions—even Tony’s friends had accused him of being after the Stark fortune—and unwelcome commentary over Tony lowering his standards in order to date a tattooed nobody veteran from Brooklyn. They’d have the typical homophobia rearing its ugly head, and probably a lot of judgement over two men raising a child together.

But at that particular moment, surrounded by friends and family, Steve felt a whole lot like telling the world to give it their best shot. He’d never backed down from fighting for what was right before, and there was no way in hell he was starting now. Whatever happened, they’d face it together.

Steve wasn’t sure how long they’d been sitting together, lingering over cake, people switching seats and moving around until it was only the younger crowd at the table. Steve had moved Peter onto his lap, so he could feel Tony there beside him, offer him extra reassurance if possible. Bucky was half draped over a chair at the end of the table with Lucky’s head in his lap, Natasha now beside Steve on the bench, the two of them calling bullshit over the details of a particularly ridiculous story Sam was telling, when Clint shouted, “Nailed it,” and made them all look up in confusion.

“Nailed what?” Steve asked, but Clint just flapped a hand in Steve’s direction, and kept his eyes glued to his phone.

“What’re you up to, sweetheart?” Bucky asked.

“Operation Fu— _dge_ the Internet is now in full swing,” Clint answered, holding his phone aloft.

Steve and Tony exchanged a glance before Tony fished out his own phone. After some fiddling, he smiled almost shyly, and tilted the screen to show Steve what Clint had posted on the shop’s Twitter account.

There was a picture of the three of them together, Peter nestled happily on Steve’s lap, the Medal of Honor almost, but not quite obscured by his head, which was tilted up in order to look at his dad. While Steve was used to seeing affection in his son’s eyes, something about the photo captured it in a way that was altogether wonderfully uncontestable. Peter was absolutely _beaming_ at him with love and adoration, so much so that Steve’s heart ached with the joy of seeing it there.

Steve had been captured in the middle of laughing at something Sam had said off camera, the arm that wasn’t around Peter wrapped possessively around Tony, who was tucked up against Steve’s side. Tony was caught mid-laugh as well, his nose crinkled up adorably, and his head practically on Steve’s shoulder as he giggled. Steve was so captivated by the photo, and seeing the three of them together, looking like a happy family, that it took a moment before he realized there was a message accompanying the image.

_Spending #MemorialDay with #CaptainRogers, #TonyStark, #SonofRogers and the rest of the @shieldtattoo family #ProudVeteran #SupportOurTroops_

When Steve looked up, he found Tony watching him expectantly. “Still okay?” he asked hesitantly.

“I think this might actually be the most okay I’ve been in years,” Steve answered, the truth of the words sinking down deep, and taking roots.

Feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected wave of love and happiness, Steve leaned over and kissed Tony, possibly with a bit more heat than he’d originally intended if the wolf-whistles were any indication. When he managed to pull away, Tony was smiling at him, his cheeks pink, and his eyes bright. Steve pressed another quick kiss to his lips, and settled back in to listen to Sam’s tall tales, while in the back of his mind, he tried to decide where in the shop he should hang a framed version of Clint’s photo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we have it, a little more insight into why Natasha has been reacting the way she has. Considering the issues surrounding sexual assault in the military, and how it is handled, I've felt since the beginning of the story that it was important to touch on this broken, awful side of the military machine via Natasha's character. The scene from the end of 17 was planned out for ages, as was Natasha's response. 
> 
> Also, I think it was important for Natasha to be the one to say some of this stuff to Steve, due to the nature of her no BS approach in general, and also the dynamics of their particular relationship. It's easier for Steve to dismiss / rationalize away Bucky and Clint being on his side vs. Natasha getting back in his corner, and explicitly stating she is proud of him. As a result, we're going to see a real shift in Steve, as he works toward forgiving himself, especially for those things that were not his fault, and entirely outside of his control. 
> 
> And... he raised some pretty good points about Pepper and Rhodey's approach to "defending" Tony. *cough* Intensions aside, Pepper & Rhodey's actions / words actually showed a shocking lack of respect for Tony, and the work he's invested in himself, the progress he has made, and that he is a brilliant, loving, resilient man. His friends infantilized him, and treated him like he is helpless, and not qualified to live his life without THEM running it for him. Whew. Again, they'll come around once they've cooled off, and thought it through.
> 
> Meanwhile, if anyone wants to draw that little family photo that Clint posted to twitter, they'd be my @#$%^&* hero for life. Just sayin' ;D
> 
> Uh... dude, it is so Monday all in my face. I'm going to stop rambling now, because I don't even know what's up. Hi? Hi. Hope you're all well, and thanks for the delicious comment frenzy surrounding these last couple chapters! I'm so happy I'm not alone in this insanity. *hugs you all*


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter isn't perfect. Tony digs deeper into Steve's past. Whether he's ready to hear the truth or not, Steve finally learns about what happened the morning of his breakdown.

Tony took a deep breath, sneaking a glance at Steve before staring back down into his steaming cup of coffee. There was a tension in the man’s shoulders Tony didn't like to see, a bit of that ramrod Captain Rogers posture happening.

After the barbecue, Steve had been so exhausted that he'd actually fallen asleep for a few minutes during the car ride home. Tony had decided that was a pretty clear indication that they'd reached their Serious Conversation quota for the day. Instead of talking through what had happened, the three of them had curled up on the couch together, letting Peter stay up a little later than usual as they snuggled, and watched cartoons.

Peter had been fussy about going to bed, even though he was practically already asleep, and Tony had watched with a heart full of love as Steve carried the little boy first to the bathroom to brush his teeth and pee, then into his bedroom, where they'd tucked Peter in together.

As far as Tony was concerned, Steve looked like he was two steps away from someone needing to carry _him_ to bed, so Tony had steered them in that direction. Steve had wrapped himself around Tony, head resting on his shoulder, perhaps unconsciously mirroring the way Peter had been snuggled up to Steve only minutes before. Tony rubbed circles against Steve's back, pet his hair, and whispered soothing, loving words against the top of Steve's head as the man lost his battle with sleep.

Tony had expected to have sleep elude him, to have empty hours of nothing but obsessively thinking over their social media debut, the argument with his friends, or the state of Steve's mental health, but instead, he'd fallen right asleep.

The primary reason Tony was yawning into his coffee that morning was because Peter had made an appearance around one in the morning, his soft cry of, “Daddy?” cutting through the shroud of sleep, and waking Tony in an instant.

“What's wrong, baby?” Steve's voice had been thick with sleep, but he sounded with it in a way Tony wasn't. He'd been dreaming, and then he'd been awake, and disconcerted, heart racing at the warbly little voice calling out in the darkness. “Did you have a bad dream?”

There was a sniffling sound, followed by a tremulous, “You an’ Tony went away, and I couldn't find you _anywhere_.”

Unsurprisingly, Steve had pulled Peter up into the bed with them, and talked him through the bad dream, keeping watch until the little boy eventually fell asleep nestled between them.

“I'm sorry,” Tony had whispered, “if Pepper and—”

“This is on me,” Steve interrupted. Even in the darkness, Tony had been able to make out the wet shine of Steve's eyes as he stared up at the ceiling, Peter curled around him as if worried Steve was going to disappear at any moment.

At least he'd reached for Tony, and so Tony had held on for dear life, thumb stroking the back of Steve's hand in an attempt to offer comfort. Somewhere along the way Tony had fallen back asleep, but one look at Steve the following morning was all it took for Tony to see that he had not.

“He hasn't had a morning like that in _ages_ ,” Steve sighed, sliding into the empty seat opposite Tony, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. If Tony was tired, Steve had to be exhausted.

Peter was typically so well behaved that Tony had been lulled into a false sense of security, one that made parenting seem like a breeze. That morning had been anything _but_ breezy. Right from the minute he woke up, Peter had been cranky, and noncompliant, pushing away his breakfast, and throwing a tantrum when it was time to get dressed. There had been tears, and shouting—Peter had actually thrown a shoe at Steve—and just when Tony thought they’d gotten through the worst of it, Peter had turned those big brown eyes his way, refocusing his attention on the weak link.

Somehow, despite the begging, and blatant emotional manipulation, Tony managed to hold a united front with Steve, and they’d gotten Peter down into the car, and dropped him off at school. Peter’s adorable little face had been wet with tears, but he’d given them each a begrudging hug goodbye after they walked him inside.

“I never should have left yesterday without talking to him,” Steve groaned.

“I don't know if that would have helped,” Tony said after a minute. “You looked wrecked, Steve. Peter would probably have been twice as freaked out.”

Steve nodded, but it was obvious to Tony that he was still beating himself up. “Do you think we should have let him stay home today?”

Tony blinked, looking up from his coffee again. “No,” he said after giving the question serious consideration. “It would have only postponed it until tomorrow. If it worked the day before, Pete probably would’ve doubled down on the tantrum in order to skip school again.”

Steve nodded, something like relief in his eyes. “You’re probably right. At least this way, he can have a normal day at preschool, and see that no one has disappeared on him.” Steve sighed, the guilt flashing across his face again. “We should leave a little early for pickup, so we’re already there waiting for Peter when they finish up for the day.”

“Good thinking.”

Tony stared across the table, wondering if Steve was making some sort of subtle point with all the _we_ talk, maybe in preparation of the conversation they still needed to have. During the ride back from Peter’s school, Tony had given Steve the Cliff’s Notes version of his talk with Rhodey and Pepper, and Steve had done the same for his reconciliation with Natasha, but there was still an elephant in the room.

Steve was hunched over his own cup of coffee, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders again, and Tony felt a pang of guilt for assigning ulterior motives to Steve’s inclusive language. It’s not like this was the first time he’d talked that way; consciously or not, Steve increasingly acted as if Tony had always been involved in parenting Peter.

“Sure you don’t want to go back to bed?” Tony asked.

Steve scared up a smile from somewhere as he sat up straighter in his seat. “No. I don’t want to throw things out of whack for being able to fall asleep tonight.”

Tony nodded, and stared at his coffee again, coming to a decision. “I know it’s been a rough morning, but, um… Look, if you’re comfortable doing this, I’d like to talk to you. About what happened during the whole breakdown.”

When he glanced up, Tony expected to see Steve wearing a deer caught in headlights expression, but all that was there was a whole lot of concern aimed in Tony's direction. “As much as I need to know, I can wait, so you’re able to have your therapist in the room to—”

“Nope,” Tony said, sitting up straighter. “I’ve been thinking about it since the other night, actually, and yesterday kind of made my mind up for me. As long as you’re feeling strong enough to do this, I’d rather it be just you and me, Steve.”

Steve took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before squaring his shoulders, and nodding, giving Tony his full attention. “I’d like to think I am. If I feel anything coming on, I’ll give you a heads up.”

Something about his determined expression made Tony think of a prisoner putting up a brave front, even as they lined him up for the firing squad. Already, the urge to comfort Steve was strong, but Tony got the distinct impression Steve didn’t _actually_ need or want comforting—maybe what he needed was for Tony to finally stop coddling him.

“Before… before I do, though—and I get it if this is asking too much—I was hoping you could tell me more about Anderson.”

Steve’s expression would have been amusing, if not for the subject matter. “About _Anderson_?” Likely unconsciously, Steve reached across his body to press his hand against the spot where the tattoo inspired by the memory of Anderson’s death was located. “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Tony. I knew him for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes before he was killed in action, and almost all of those were spent arguing with him.”

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek, questions piling up. For a while now, he’d been trying to make sense of what Steve had told him that morning, wanting to latch onto the flashback as an excuse, and move on, never speak or think of it again, but he _couldn’t_. Tony was having too much trouble getting from point A to point B, and it was driving him crazy.

“Right, so, you meet this annoying guy, and he gets shot in front of you,” Tony said, drumming his fingers against the table. “Did he remind you of someone, or—”

Steve reached across the table and covered Tony’s hand with his own, stilling his fingers, which was good, really. The sound was annoying, but Tony hadn’t been able to stop the nervous movement. “I feel like you’re not asking me the actual question you want the answer to,” Steve said, surprising Tony with how calm he sounded.

“Yeah, okay, probably not,” Tony admitted, squeezing Steve’s hand before pulling free to wrap it around his mug. “I'm not sure what the question is, so I’m in the market for data. Did anything else happen that day? Something maybe before, or after the Anderson incident?”

When Tony finally looked up, Steve was sitting with his hands clasped in front of him on the table, a furrow forming between his brows, eyes downcast. “Up until that point, it was a fairly typical day,” Steve said after a moment. “After? While I was busy yelling at a dead man like an idiot, the sniper firing on us took advantage of the confusion, and started picking people off, while the rest of his group dug in for a proper confrontation.”

Tony sat up a little straighter, motioned for Steve to keep going. Steve gave him a concerned, almost skeptical look, sighing when Tony nodded.

“Someone tackled me from behind so I’d take cover. I landed face first in everything that spilled out of Anderson’s head, so I got treated to a big mouthful of blood and sand, and god knows what else.”

There was a shocked, painful inhalation, and it took a second for Tony to realize he was the one who had made the sound. Steve was watching him, the concern back in his eyes.

“Are you _sure_ you want me to keep going?”

“Yes, sorry,” Tony answered, feeling dazed. “ _Please_. I’m fine.” Steve still seemed skeptical, so Tony added, “I promise. I think I need to hear this, Steve.”

“Right. I can’t possibly do it justice. It was _bedlam_ , Tony,” Steve continued, rubbing the side of his head, as he’d done the first time Tony had heard about Anderson. “We were being shot at, our unit and Anderson’s group are blindly returning fire, you’ve got screaming civilians in the mix, people injured, or dead, or dying. One of the vehicles that had been stopped in the roadblock exploded. From where he was standing, all Bucky saw was me hitting the dirt, so he takes off in the middle of all that insanity to check on me. My ears were ringing, and I was spitting blood, trying to get my head around what was happening, but underneath it all I could still hear Bucky screaming my name.”

Steve paused, nostrils flaring, then seemed to shake himself out of wherever he’d gone in his mind.

“Bucky wouldn’t stay down, because he thought I’d been shot, and I knew I needed to show him I was okay before he got himself killed. I tried to go to him, but I couldn’t stop staring at Anderson. It was like one of those dreams where your limbs are heavy, and you can only move in slow motion, while the pressure and panic builds up. You _know_ that staying still is death, but you’re paralyzed. Do you ever have those?”

“Yeah,” Tony croaked. “I mean, not exactly like _that_ , more… uh, mundane.”

Nodding, Steve looked down at his hands. “Usually, I’m carrying Bucky for those dreams. I can never run fast enough. I can hear and _feel_ him dying, and actually see the bullets whizzing past us, which means any second now, one’s going to punch into him or me, or both of us. The harder I try, the slower I go, until it feels like I’m going to… I don’t know, _explode_ , maybe. From the effort.”

Unable to help himself, Tony reached across the table, and grabbed hold of Steve’s wrist, gave it a squeeze. The corner of Steve’s mouth ticked up in the semblance of a smile, some of the tension easing away.

“I was probably only on the ground for a minute,” Steve said softly, clearing his throat. “It felt longer. Endlessly staring at Anderson, with his blood in my mouth, listening to my name being screamed, while I’m _stuck_. I have an entire sketchbook full of drawings of him, right down to every last freckle, and the spot of stubble he’d missed when shaving.”

Beneath his fingers, Tony could feel the slight tremble vibrating through Steve’s body. “Guessing you and Coulson spent some time talking through all of this?”

“Yeah.” Steve swallowed, and met Tony’s eyes again. “A lot. I suppose you could say the direction of my entire life changed that day.”

A chill worked down between Tony’s shoulder blades, more from the intensity in Steve’s eyes than his words. “How so?”

“It’s hard to describe,” he said, brows furrowing. “On top of realizing I was probably going to be dead in a minute, I was still thinking about Peggy’s arthouse films, and the stories my Ma told me about my dad, about an asthma attack I had years before, and all these other crazy, disjointed thoughts. And then I heard _myself_ shouting, ‘Move, move, move!’”

Tony’s heart lurched, unable to push aside the memory of a very not-there in retrospect Steve Rogers shouting the same thing at Tony, while he desperately tried to figure out what the hell had happened between going to sleep and waking up.

“One minute I’m spinning out of control, and the next?” Steve exhaled slowly, and sliced his hand through the air, as if marking out a clear path forward. “Calm and focused.”

Tony cleared his throat, pushing away his own memories. “Shock, maybe?”

“No, I don’t think so. I... something inside of me _broke_.” Steve looked to him, and there was guilt, or maybe shame in his eyes. “I don’t know how else to describe it, Tony. I was never the same again after it happened, but that was good. I needed to break in order to survive.”

Tony felt like he might fall right into Steve’s eyes, didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until the need to suck air into his lungs became too much to ignore. Steve didn’t sound crazy to him, not at all. It was familiar, more than anything, made him think simultaneously of the first time he’d fought back against his father, and of years spent going off somewhere in his own head while getting smacked around.

“That makes sense,” Tony whispered, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I think I know exactly what you mean. You have to… turn certain things off, sometimes. To survive.”

Steve nodded, and turned his hand so he could hold Tony’s, twine their fingers together, and squeeze. “I’m sorry. Should I stop?”

“No,” Tony said, squeezing back, staring at their hands. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Steve gathered his thoughts, and picked up where he’d left off. “I got back on my feet. Bucky _lost_ it when he saw me—I was still covered in Anderson’s blood.”

“Shit.”

“Even while I was dealing with Bucky, I was listening, trying to absorb as much as possible,” Steve explained, holding Tony's gaze. “No one was giving orders. Turns out our commanding officer had been killed,” Steve explained. “I found out later on it was friendly fire, because Anderson’s group was green, and fucking unloading indiscriminately.”

“Damn,” Tony murmured. “What a waste of human life.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve said, shaking his head, and staring down at their hands. “Next in rank should have stepped in, and assumed command, but by the time I found him he was completely checked out. Kept going on about how he should have gone to law school.”

“Oh,” Tony blinked, as he finally got there. “You were next in the chain of command.”

“Hardly,” Steve snorted. “I wasn't even an officer, and there were plenty of soldiers there who outranked me. Didn't stop me from taking over. I’m just lucky everyone else was so desperate for _someone_ to tell them what to do, they actually listened when I started barking orders.”

Tony huffed in surprise, prompting Steve to smile. “Whatever the consequences were going to be was better than sitting there twiddling my thumbs while everything went to hell around us. I put Bucky and Clint on the sniper, tracked down Natasha to put her in command of Anderson’s group, and then got on the horn to command. The sniper took the longest, because he was holed up real nice, but we were able to clear out the rest and cover the civilians as they retreated without taking any more casualties.”

Steve took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, pinning Tony with his eyes. “I'm sort of glossing over a lot of shit here, Tony,” he said. “I'm not sure what it is you need to know, but I don't think it's a play by play of the battle. Is any of this helping?”

“Yes.” Tony sighed, and stared up at the ceiling. “No. Maybe? I’m… Okay, let’s just… That was your first taste of command, right?” Tony let go of Steve’s hand as he slouched back in his seat, draining what was left in his mug, grimacing at the lukewarm temperature of the coffee.

“Probably would have been my last,” Steve said, sounding cautious now, and unsure in the face of Tony’s response. “The Army doesn't like it when you jump the chain of command, _especially_ when you're a NCO, and the commissioned officer in ‘charge’ is the son of a General. Certain parties were not amused.”

“You're kidding me.” Steve shook his head. “So, what changed their mind?”

As Tony watched, the oddest smile slowly crept across Steve’s face. “That’d be Richard’s fault,” he said, “or Nick Fury’s, technically. But Richard was his guy, so the only reason Nick knew I existed was because of Richard.”

Tony sat up straighter in his chair. “Richard as in _Parker_?”

“That was the day we met,” Steve clarified, still smiling. “Turns out there was a miscommunication somewhere along the chain, and no one was supposed to be in the area. Our presence had fucked Richard’s entire operation, but at the same time, the enemy gave their position away by attacking us, so,” Steve shrugged. “Richard was incensed, until he got a handle on the situation. Next thing I know, I’m being dragged off to debrief Nick, who decides I’m the kind of ‘efficient motherfucker he wants in his backpocket.’ His words, not mine.”

Tony drummed his fingers against the tabletop again before catching himself, and folding his arms across his chest. “Big day.”

“Big day,” Steve agreed, the smile fading from his face. “Nick and Richard pulled their strings, but I wasn’t going anywhere without my brother, which was how we _all_ wound up in Special Forces. Nick’s also the reason I had what you would classify as an unusual path toward becoming a commissioned officer.”

Sighing, Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, filtering through the new data points. At least there was _some_ connection to Peter in there.

“I used to have a couple different recurring nightmares about that day,” Steve said softly. “After I came home, mostly I dreamt about Bucky… Um, but Anderson still showed up fairly regularly, even if the scenarios changed.” Steve shot him a wry smile. “Dr. Coulson says I'm a guilt hoarder. I won't give any of it up, and I'm always looking for more to add to the pile.”

A huff of laughter escaped before Tony could lock it down, but that only made Steve smile, and nod his head. “Sorry, it's not funny.”

“It is a little,” Steve countered. He sighed, and shrugged, the smile falling away again. “I didn't even know Anderson, and I still feel like it's _my_ fault he got killed.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Steve just raised his hand to cut off the words. “I know, I’m working on it. At least since I started therapy he stopped showing up in my dreams to tell me how pissed off he is that I'm alive. So far, anyway.”

“Hey, that’s still progress,” Tony insisted, wishing he could offer Steve some guarantee that he didn't have to worry about running into Anderson in his dreams.

“I’ll take it where I can get it,” Steve said, smiling. “I've seen enough of him to last a lifetime.”

With a sigh, Steve pushed back his chair, and leaned across the table, pressing a kiss against Tony's forehead before grabbing his empty mug. “He tormented the shit out of me over adopting Peter,” Steve announced, heading for the coffee maker.

“I get that,” Tony sighed. “I didn't even know his parents, and I catch myself feeling like an asshole over how happy I am that I get to be in Peter's life instead of them.”

“Welcome to my world.”

As he watched, Steve paused in his coffee pouring to yawn, and for no reason whatsoever, Tony felt his heart _ache_. It was a strange mixture of love, and gratitude, and pride, and awe. Somehow, against all odds, Steve had managed to survive everything life had thrown at him, and now there he was, with his broad shoulders, and serious expression, beautifully alive as he poured Tony a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” Tony called, waiting for Steve to look over before saying, “I love you.” Watching the emotions flickering across Steve's face, Tony was very glad he'd said something. “Thanks for rehashing all of this. I know it sucks.”

There was the saddest little expression on Steve's face, one that reminded Tony of the way Peter had looked when they'd dropped him off that morning. “It’s getting easier,” he said, placing the steaming mug in front of Tony. “But yeah. It sucks.”

Tony reached for Steve, pulling him in close, so that he could hug him, head pressed against Steve’s stomach. A moment later, Tony was enveloped in warmth, a hand winding into his hair, as Steve held him close.

“I told Natasha that I'm sick of it,” Steve said, his voice a rumble beneath Tony's ear. “All I've done for years is torture myself over something beautiful. Richard’s dead. He chose the work over his son, and I can't change it, or save him, and… And he isn't coming back.”

“No,” Tony agreed, breathing deeply. “He's not.”

“I'm Peter’s dad now,” Steve continued, almost as if to himself. “At this point, I’ve been Peter's father for _longer_ than Richard, and even when we'd only had a year together, I know I spent more time with Peter than either of his parents did.”

Fingers combed through Tony's hair, and he tried to wrap his mind around how strange that confession must have felt for Steve to make. “You're good at it, Steve. That little boy loves you.”

“I don't know what I'd do if I lost him,” Steve murmured, grip tightening on Tony. “But I can't spend my life acting like the Parkers are going to show up to take him away from me.”

“Which Parkers?”

Tony hadn’t actually meant it as a serious question, but before he could take it back, Steve groaned. “Take your pick. I've got about a thousand scenarios. Everything from the C.I.A. faking their death, meaning that Richard and Mary show up wanting their son back, to Anderson sabotaging Ben and May giving me Peter in the first place.”

“How's that work?” Tony shifted out of the embrace so he could look up at Steve.

Shame was on Steve's face, and he seemed to struggle with his words before he looked Tony in the eye, and shrugged. “I guess I turned him into my own personal boogeyman. He was probably a nice guy, but my… mind,” Tony could hear Steve editing himself, eliminating some negative commentary about the way his head worked, “latched onto him as another way to torture me.”

“That doesn't sound like much fun.” Tony squeezed Steve's hip, and reached for his coffee, blowing on the contents before risking a too-hot sip.

“Yeah, I used to have to run into Peter's room after those, make sure he was really there.”

“Anderson was taking him, or—”

“No, it was,” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, and pulled out the chair closest to Tony, sitting down heavily. “Leading up to me adopting Peter, the Parkers—Ben and May—had him at their place, because they'd been watching Peter while his parents were away. It was iffy at first.”

“Iffy?” Tony waited, hating how defeated Steve looked, slumped over in his seat, staring at his shoes.

“They've never said as much, but I'm positive May was trying to convince Ben to contest the will, and keep Peter with them. Ben and I spoke a couple times leading up to the drop off, where he carefully tried to talk me out of accepting, making it clear they were more than happy to take on the responsibility. I'd already made up my mind, and we all know how stubborn I can be.” Steve smiled at this, softening the criticism somewhat. “On my end of things, there was a lot of uncertainty over whether or not they'd actually honor Richard and Mary’s wishes.”

A cold, sick feeling settled into Tony's stomach. “Really?”

“Yeah. Can you blame them?” Steve asked, pinning Tony with his haunted eyes. “He would have had a mom _and_ a dad. Even a shitty lawyer could argue that Peter would be better off with stable, married blood relations, rather than a single veteran who runs a tattoo parlor, and also happens to be gay.”

Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Logically, maybe. I have a hard time imagining Peter having a better father, though.”

Steve smiled at this, ducking his head. “Anyway, the lead up to getting him was non-stop anxiety. There was a lot to take care of before taking custody of Peter, which helped, but eventually I ran out of things to do, and it was a waiting game. That’s when the nightmares really kicked into overdrive.”

Tony could all too easily imagine Steve spending his evenings pacing through the apartment, running over every possible way in which everything could go to shit, desperately trying to avoid sleep, which would have naturally made everything _worse_.

A snort of laughter caught Tony's attention, prompting him to look up. Steve was shaking his head. “If you'd seen this place before, you'd get why it's insane anyone even considered letting me take Peter. I hardly had furniture. An old couch from my folks’ rec room was out here with my easel, along with a TV Bucky gave me so he could watch it when visiting. I had one of the bookshelves, and there was a chest of drawers in the bedroom, but that was it as far as furniture went. Buck called it Militant Minimalist.”

“No bed?”

Steve fidgeted, and shrugged. “I had a sleeping bag. Considering how little I slept, a bed seemed pointless. Then again, almost everything felt pointless before Peter.”

Tony tried to visualize it all, imagining how Ben or May might have balked about the idea of leaving a little kid with someone living like that, if they’d seen Steve’s place. It sounded a lot like Steve had been undecided on whether or not he was going to be sticking around, and Tony shivered, thinking of the terrified look in Bucky's eyes when they'd talked about whether or not Steve was suicidal.

“I went shopping, tried to make it feel more like a home, all while reading books on parenting, and buying supplies, but the entire time I'm waiting for them to change their minds, and keep Peter.” Steve sighed, and shrugged. “The day of was the worst. I hadn't slept in ages, and I was so stressed out I couldn't eat.”

Tony watched Steve's leg bobbing up and down, watched him wringing his hands, and wanted to find some way to push all the fear and tension away from Steve. Just wrap him up safe and sound. “But it all worked out,” Tony reminded him, reaching out to squeeze Steve's knee.

Steve nodded, covered Tony's hand with his own. “Not in my dreams, though. Anderson shows up, and I can't get him to leave.” Steve grimaced. “Still dead. Still pissed off, and running his mouth about how he was somebody's Peter, too. That I'm a monster, and I should have been the one to die. How no one on their right mind would give me a kid if they knew about _him_ , which,” Steve took a deep breath, and laughed when he exhaled, even though there were tears in his eyes, “is true. If I had been honest with them about where my head was at, the Parkers definitely would have kept Peter.”

Tony was only partially listening, because he'd broken out in chills, and his heart was racing. “Wait, in your dreams, Anderson won't leave?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered absently. “I'm desperately trying to get him out of the apartment before the Parkers show up with Peter, and see him, because if they _do_ ,” Steve sighed, “it's all over. And, of course, Anderson doesn't want to go anywhere, and he won't shut up, so I can’t think straight. Even though I shouldn’t be able to, it’s like I can see the Parkers getting closer and closer. Time’s running out, they're almost here, and I've got a talking corpse in my home, so now I'm panicking, doing everything I can to try to get him _out_ , only— Tony, are you okay?”

Tony had stood up, the pieces clicking into place with such awful finality that he hadn't been able to help the reaction. “Give me a minute,” he said, pacing away, hands in his hair. He couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “Sorry, but I think I’m having an epiphany over here.”

When he whirled back around, Steve looked as if he wanted to either run to Tony to comfort him, or maybe jump out the window for having upset him in the first place. Tony swallowed, and laughed again, shrugging his shoulders. “Shit, Steve, _that's_ what happened.”

“What is?” Steve asked, sitting up straighter, looking twice as distressed.

“Point A to point B,” Tony said, wanting to cheer. “That morning, when you told me about your tattoo, and Anderson, I couldn't figure out how or why _that_ memory showed up to crash the party.”

“ _Other_ than me being fucked in the head?” Steve winced, added, “Sorry. Habit.”

“No, you don’t get it. Right, look, I woke up and you were already in full on panic mode, and then when we were outside, I saw how confused you were, so of course I knew you weren't all there. It's not like I didn't _believe_ you, Steve, but—”

Steve held up both his hands, and Tony stopped talking. “I'm having trouble following you, and to be honest, I was scared shitless over not knowing what I did _before_ your friends talked to me, so if you—”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I’m jumping all over the place.” Tony steepled his hands together over his mouth for a moment, trying to rein himself in. “We had our talk, we went to sleep, and the next thing I know the covers are yanked away, and you’re shouting for me to wake up, then throwing my clothes at me, and insisting I get dressed,” Tony said in a rush. “Which, yeah, shitty way to wake up under the best of circumstances, let alone with all the ‘reasonable restraint’ tension we had going on. I mean, _hours_ after I finally risk believing _maybe_ you really do love me, I’ve got a bundle of clothes hitting my chest, and you’re kicking me out? Don’t get me wrong, you were obviously not in your right mind, but I couldn’t tell if you were having a panic attack, or a flashback, or if there had been an accident and someone was hurt, so I kept trying to talk to you, which was pointless. If you even heard me, it only annoyed you, because I wasn’t following orders.”

As he spoke, Tony paced back and forth, his hands waving wildly in the air as if to better explain the situation. “I’m still half asleep, and taking way too long for you, so you marched me out of the bedroom before I could finish getting dressed. I’d sort of lost patience with what was happening at that point, and I think maybe I yelled back about suggesting you using your fucking words, which is when you came at me with the whole, ‘we’re running out of time, the Parkers are on their way with Peter,’ explanation.”

Spinning on his heels, Tony gestured toward Steve, who was sitting rigidly in his seat, face blank, eyes wide, which should have been a clue to slow down, take a breath, but Tony was on a roll, so he kept going. “Naturally, this whole time I assumed you were freaking out because the Parkers being on their way meant Peter might see me. Considering up to that point you acted like Peter was matter and I was antimatter, who the hell can blame me?” Tony resumed his pacing, chewing on his lower lip nervously. “Even setting aside our issues surrounding Peter, you treated me like a dirty secret when we started dating, so this felt a lot like reverting to form. With the way you were acting, it isn’t like I _wanted_ to stick around, so I told you to give me a fucking minute so I could finish getting dressed, and then I’d go.”

Heart in his throat, Tony pushed on, unable to stop the steady stream of words pouring out of his mouth. “You did _not_ like that answer, not even a little,” he said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Next thing I know, you’re stalking toward me, all wild eyed and twice as pissed off. Someone else probably would have run for it, but I did that once and Howard made me regret it, so I just squeezed my eyes shut and braced for impact,” Tony said, coming to a halt, wrapping his arms around himself. “I know it sounds stupid, but if it had to happen, I didn’t want to have the memory of _seeing_ your face, or your eyes, or any part of you, really, while getting hit.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Tony started moving again, adding, “Only, you _didn’t_ hit me, you threw me over your shoulders, and down we went. There was a processing delay on my end, and then I was too scared to struggle, because I didn’t want to risk sending us both crashing down the stairs, so I waited until we were outside before I really tried to get free, which with how strong you are was admittedly terrifying. I assumed _all of it_ was about me and you, and… and considering all the shit I’d told you the night before… The idea that on the back of opening myself up, you could turn around and treat me like you were taking out the garbage, I… I swear, it would have hurt less if you _had_ hit me, because that… that’s everything I’ve ever been afraid of where you’re concerned, Steve. That—deep down—I mean _nothing_ to you, that I’ve wound up right back where I started. Stupid Tony, actually believing he _matters_ , when really he’s trash, only something to fuck, or fuck with. I mean, people do it all the time, right? Wind up involved with someone _exactly_ like their abusive parent, keeping that old cycle going, because it’s all they—”

An awful, wounded sound derailed Tony’s speech, prompting him to actually stop, and face Steve again, something he had been actively avoiding. Steve was hunched over in his seat, one hand gripping his chest, the other clutching at his head. His body shook as Steve sobbed raggedly, struggling to contain the sounds, and yet, tiny, mournful hitches of breath still escaped. Everything about Steve’s body language screamed _wounded_ , to the extent that Tony was waiting to see blood begin seeping from between Steve’s fingers. The only problem was, these wounds were down deep, where they couldn’t be seen, which made them the most dangerous sort, really.

Tony’s heart ached in sympathy, and so he took a step forward, wanting to wrap Steve up in his arms, try to ease away some of that pain. Even though his eyes were still squeezed shut, Steve held out a trembling hand as if to ward Tony off.

“Please don’t,” Steve gasped, sounding _broken_. With what was obviously an incredible effort, he opened his eyes, and faced Tony, the agony there for anyone to see. “ _Tony_. You shouldn’t… comfort _me_ , not for that. God, Tony, not for… for _any_ of it, ever.” Tears coursing down his face, Steve shook his head, chest heaving.

“Hey, whoa, I’ve already _forgiven_ you, Steve,” Tony said, stomach dropping with anxiety. “You didn’t _actually_ hit me, and—”

“I _scared_ you, made you _believe_ I was going to hurt you,” Steve interrupted, devastation writ into the features of his handsome face.

“Years of living with _Howard Stark_ made me think that,” Tony interrupted, standing up straighter. “Not _you_ , Steve. That’s not who you are. That’s _never_ been who you are!”

“I still made you feel small, and scared, and like… like unloved garbage,” Steve argued, voice cracking. “The idea of you trying to make _me_ feel better for that is… It makes sick, Tony. _You’re_ the one who should be comforted. I’m _sorry_ , Tony, I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know how to make this better.”

“You already _are_ making it better, Steve,” Tony said, desperation creeping into his voice.

Dread washed through Tony, leaving him weak in the knees. He'd known the truth would be hard on Steve, which was one of the reasons he'd waited so long to say anything. That, and the idea of rehashing the morning—how betrayed Steve had made him feel—didn’t sound like Tony’s idea of a good time. Deep down, at the heart of it all, it was much less the physicality of what had transpired, and more the supposed revelation that he'd been fooled. Again. Because wouldn’t that have just been perfect? After years, Tony Stark _finally_ lets his guard down, let’s himself fall madly in love, actually believes he’s loved in return, only to find out moments later that it was all smoke and mirrors.

As difficult as talking about it had been, once he’d opened his mouth and started, it was impossible to stop. Hell, if Tony was being honest, he’d been talking through it all more for _himself_ , than Steve, too excited about the new information he had at his disposal to take his time, and let Steve acclimate gradually. Tony had seen the shock on Steve’s face, and simply turned away so he could keep going, just get it all out and in the open, and now Steve was left dealing with the psychological equivalent of decompression sickness.

The legs of Steve's chair scraped against the floor as he rose to his feet, looking as if he might be physically ill. Tony held his breath, already mentally reviewing what he should say to Bucky, because he was pretty sure Steve was going to need as much support as he could get for this one.

“Steve, I know this is awful, but it doesn't need to change anything,” Tony said, swallowing.

“It should,” Steve countered, voice a low rumble. “It has for me.”

Carefully, as if approaching a spooked animal, Steve took several small steps toward Tony, watching him as if expecting Tony to take off running. He stayed put, though, heart racing and mouth going dry, until Steve was close enough to touch. Two warm, shaking hands cupped Tony's cheeks, cradling his face so gently that this was what finally sent the tears spilling from Tony's eyes.

“I need to ask you something. This is really important to me, Tony,” Steve said softly, staring into his eyes. After catching his breath, Tony nodded his consent, and Steve continued. “Do you feel safe when we’re together?”

Tony's eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing as he stared up into Steve's face, lost to the pain he could see there. “Yes,” Tony answered, reaching up to grab hold of Steve's arms. “If I _didn't_? We wouldn't be standing here talking right now. I would have stuck around long enough to make sure Peter was safe, and then gotten on the company jet to anywhere that wasn’t here. I know with the way I was avoiding spending the night that that might sound like bullshit, but honestly, I was trying to avoid _this_ moment more than anything else.”

Steve seemed to sag with relief, even as tears continued to roll down his face. Tony tightened his grip, and kept talking, unable to help himself.

“That's what pissed me off so much yesterday. Pepper and Rhodey _know_ how hard I’ve worked. I'm not the same person I was eighteen years ago. Not even close. The insecurities and trust issues are still a thing at times, and probably always will be to some extent, but if I _really_ thought for a second that I was heading into a repeat of Howard? _No fucking way_ , Steve. And if _anyone_ is crazy enough to think I'd risk the safety of a defenseless little boy—”

Fingers stroked reverently across Tony's cheeks before Steve pulled him into an embrace, wrapping Tony up safe in his arms. “That's what I said to Clint. You'd never let Peter, or any other child, go through something like that.” Steve pressed a kiss to Tony's temple. “What you went through.”

Tony held on tight, pressing his face against Steve's neck, feeling a bit like he couldn't breathe. “Exactly,” Tony all but whispered. “Steve, you have to understand… some things are hard to unlearn.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony tightened his grip, some small part of him terrified this was going to be the final straw. There was only so much weight Steve could be expected to carry on his shoulders before he gave up once and for all. The last twenty-four hours alone had already significantly added to the load, and now Tony had gone and taken Steve’s legs out from under him, just as he was starting to get his footing again.

“I promise you, my reaction had so much more to do with my father than it did with you,” Tony said. “It was _reflexive_ , Steve. You couldn't be less like Howard if you tried.”

Steve's mouth was warm when his lips brushed against Tony's own, the kiss swift, and gentle. Then Steve was gazing into his eyes again, and Tony had the oddest impulse to cover Steve's mouth with his hands, keep him quiet. Deep, crushing despair was washing through Tony, because now that everything was out in the open, there was every chance Steve was going to suggest they take a break, or refuse to see him at all in a misguided attempt to protect him, and… and _that_ scared the shit out of Tony. Steve’s current sense of worthlessness could lead to him taking Pepper and Rhodey’s words to heart, prompting him to abandon Tony while pretending it was for his own good.

“Don’t you fucking do it,” Tony pleaded, unable to keep quiet, the words torn from deep down in his chest, and followed by a whimper. “Please, you have to trust me, Steve, _please_ don’t—”

Steve’s lashes were dark, and clumped together with tears, his eyes red-rimmed, and shattered, but he was kissing Tony like it was a _promise_. “I’m not going anywhere,” Steve said on an exhale, thumbs brushing against Tony’s cheeks, gathering up the tears. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to… to forgive myself for how I’ve hurt you,” Steve croaked, pressing his forehead against Tony’s, even as he wept, “but as long as you want me in your life, I’m yours, Tony. I’ll _always_ be yours.”

“I want you,” Tony answered in a rush, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, holding on hard enough to likely hurt. “Steve, you’re all I’ve _ever_ wanted—you and Peter.”

As Tony watched, Steve tried and failed to gain control of his shattered expression, before giving up. “Maybe a stronger man—a _better_ man—would say goodbye, but I could _never_ do that, not unless you wanted me gone.”

Tony’s heart lurched at the words.

“I love you so much. More than anything or anyone I’ve ever met, you’re worth fighting for, Tony,” Steve continued, stroking the side of Tony’s face, and gazing down at him with such intensity that Tony didn’t want to blink and risk missing a second of what he was seeing in Steve’s eyes. “And I promise you, I’ll _never_ stop. I don’t want you to ever have to go through another morning like that. I’m going to get better, and stronger, for _us_ , Tony.”

“I know, Steve,” Tony said. “You’re already doing it, day after day. We can all see how far you’ve come.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, and sniffled, fishing a hand between them so he could push aside some of the tears on his face. “Thank you for telling me what I did,” Steve said. “It couldn’t have been easy. I wish it had never happened. There’s _so much_ I wish I had done differently.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a hell of a lot I wouldn’t change for the world, Steve,” Tony answered, sounding a bit harsher than he’d intended.

“There’s that, too,” Steve agreed, dragging his knuckles along Tony’s jaw. “I thought… when Peter came into my life, that I finally _understood_ love, but I didn’t. Not at all. Not until I met you, Tony.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve tipped his head back, wiping at his face with both hands, before his fingers wound through his hair, leaving it sticking up in spots. He looked wrecked, so much so that Tony felt guilty as he stared, unable to ignore how _beautiful_ Steve was in that moment. One hand slid down the center of his chest, gripping again, and now that he was closer, Tony realized it was the dog tags Steve was holding onto.

“The truth is, I wasn’t _living_ ,” Steve said, swallowing, and nodding as if to himself. “I was killing time.” A shudder ran through Tony at the words, or perhaps the intensity in Steve’s eyes. “I knew I couldn’t go on the way I was. Not forever. Just… just long enough. For Peter’s sake.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony said, pressing a hand over his mouth.

“I was here, but part of me was missing,” Steve said softly, tears still spilling out of his eyes. “The scariest part is, I don’t even know when I lost it, Tony. I think it must have been a little at time. What happened with my Ma cracked my foundations, and then everything else… chipped away. It’s not an excuse. It’s just the way it was. The idea of… of loving someone?”

Steve shook his head, and stepped forward again, his expression softening as he reached for Tony. “And then there was you,” Steve said gently, the smile appearing out of nowhere. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Tony. It’s humbling. You were so… patient. So _strong_ , and brave. You made being alive matter again. Showed me that change was possible. You reminded me of the reasons _why_ I fought in the first place. Made me want to fight for _myself_. Love feels like too small of a word for the way I feel about you.”

Tony wanted to look away, wanted to argue, but there was no escaping the adoration in Steve’s eyes, or the warmth of his lips brushing against Tony’s own. “I am _so sorry_ ,” Steve said. “I hate that I kept you and Peter apart for as long as I did. More importantly, although I didn’t think of it as manipulative at the time, I’m _ashamed_ of the way I threw the two of you together. Especially when you were in that state. As soon as I saw him in your arms,” Steve turned his head to the side, anguish washing over his features. “Even as out of it as I was, I could _see_ it, Tony. I knew you’d do everything you could to keep Peter safe. You’re such a good father, and Peter came so close to missing out on that, because of me. Please believe me when I say that if I could change that morning, I would.”

“Hey,” Tony whispered, cupping Steve’s cheek to turn him back around. “Look at me. Not once since I’ve met you have you been cruel for the sake of being cruel, or shown any sign of wanting to hurt _anyone_ , especially me. Yes, you’ve had your moments, and I’ve been hurt as a result, okay, fine. But every single time, you’ve stepped up, accepted responsibility, and tried to do better. That’s… fuck, Steve, that’s _so rare_. And you’ve been doing it while _hating_ yourself.”

Steve sighed, allowed his head to tip forward again, this time resting his forehead against Tony’s shoulder.

“I grew up with a monster,” Tony said softly, “and you’re not a monster, Steve Rogers. You’re the guy that does everything in his power to protect everyone else, even at his own expense. I mean, come on, even your shop is named Shield.”

To his surprise, Steve laughed at this, his shoulders shaking before he lifted his head, and kissed Tony again, leaving his lips salty.

“This thing with Natasha, and your friends,” Steve said solemnly. “As much as it’s hurt, it’s made me realize Dr. Coulson is right. I have to find a way to forgive myself, especially for things I had no control over in the first place. At this point, hating myself is hurting the people I love, and I… I don’t want to feel that way, not now. Not with you. I want to be able to enjoy what’s left of my life.”

Tony blinked, and ran the words over in his head, convinced he must have heard incorrectly.

“It’s really hard, though, Tony,” Steve added, sounding scared. “I’m going to suck at it some days.”

“That’s why you’ve got me,” Tony said, smiling up at him. “And your brother, and Clint, your dads, and Sam, and Natasha. Whenever it gets too hard, we’ll help. Remind you of everything you’ve done to help us, and other people. Of why _we_ love _you_. Okay?”

Steve nodded, then straightened up to his full height, taking a deep breath. As Tony watched, he reached beneath the collar of his shirt, snagging the chain around which his dog tags hung, fishing them out. For a long moment, Steve held the bits of metal in his palm, staring down at his hand, before closing his fist around them. With a determined look on his face, Steve pulled the chain up and over his head, removing the dog tags.

The only times Tony had seen this happen was when they were having sex, and even then, it wasn’t all the time, so something about what he was witnessing felt monumental.

“I’m the only one of us walking around still wearing these,” Steve said, almost to himself. “I think I need to stop.” Steve raised his eyes, refocusing on Tony. “I need to start letting go of the past, and focus on living in the now.”

Tony was still blinking in surprise when Steve took his hand, and placed the dog tags against his skin, closing his fingers around them. The metal was still warm, and Tony stared down at his hand, before looking back up at Steve, too shocked to know what to say.

“You don’t have to wear them,” Steve said, still holding Tony’s hand. “The idea of throwing them in my footlocker, or a drawer… I don’t know. It doesn’t sit right with me. I’d rather know you had them.”

Grasping the back of Steve’s neck, Tony stood on his tiptoes, and kissed him, watching the way Steve’s eyes softened. “I’ll keep them safe,” Tony said before kissing Steve again. “I love you Steve, and I’m fucking proud of you, okay? None of this is easy, and I know from experience.”

“Thank you,” Steve said softly, pulling Tony in close, and sighing. “I love you, too.”

For what felt like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes or so, Tony held on tight, swaying gently in Steve’s arms, until their breathing was synced up, and he felt warm, and safe, and relaxed. Tony would have happily stayed that way until it was time to pick up Peter, but his pocket started vibrating, and Steve let go in order to let him check his phone.

“Pepper wants to know how we’re holding up,” Tony announced, frowning down at the screen. With everything else going on, he’d managed to forget the whole hashtag situation. Before he could reply, another message came through. “And, not surprising, she’s hoping we can find a time to talk. Guessing that’s about the whole acting like I’m their three-year old situation.”

Steve had flopped down on the couch, and looked like he really needed to reconsider the idea of catching up on some of his missed sleep. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Tony chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Actually, there is.” Steve sat up straight, and looked at him expectantly. “Come back to bed with me. Two hours now won’t keep you from sleeping tonight.”

For a long moment, Tony was convinced Steve was going to argue against it, but he stood up, and motioned for Tony to lead the way, which he was more than happy to do.

“I’ll set an alarm,” Tony announced, doing just that as he toed off his shoes.

Looking at the dog tags, Tony hesitated. He could stick them in his pants’ pocket, but the idea of potentially losing them was terrifying, so instead, he pulled off his t-shirt, and looped the chain over his head. The weight and feel of them against his skin was shockingly intimate, prompted Tony to look over his shoulder. Steve was watching him as if Tony had performed some amazing magic trick, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“I’m spending the rest of my life with you,” Steve announced, seemingly apropos of nothing. The words made Tony’s heart jump. “That, or however long you’ll have me,” he added, stripping down to his underwear.

“Is that a fact?” Tony asked, trying for playful, and falling short.

Steve nodded. “Count on it.”

Tony watched Steve crawl into the bed, then hold the blankets back, an obvious invitation for Tony to join him. After hurriedly shedding the rest of his clothes, Tony climbed in, allowed himself to be pulled against the warmth of Steve’s chest. They shifted, wrapping themselves around each other, until Steve was kissing him again. Soft, gentle, his red-rimmed eyes gazing at Tony as if he was the bright and shiny center of the universe.

“Every… every last painful thing that’s ever happened to me,” Steve whispered, holding on tight, “it’s _worth it_ , Tony. Somehow, it led to this moment—you in my arms, loving me, and me being able to love you in return. I just needed you to know that.”

Tony answered the only way he knew how, which was to pull Steve into a kiss, and then another, before moving from his mouth to his forehead, and his nose, and cheeks, and chin. “We’re gonna be okay, Steve. I promise it’ll get better, so hang in there.”

“God, Tony, it already has,” Steve sighed, nestling in close, and yawning. “I feel like I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. I think, for the first time in a long time, I actually know where I’m going, and _why_. And… I want to get there. Up in the light.”

Steve’s words trailed off into mumbles, so it was no surprise when minutes later, he was breathing deeply, his body going heavier as he fell asleep. Tony held on tight, smiling up at the ceiling, one hand wrapped around the dog tags.

As Tony drifted off, it was to thoughts of tomorrow, and the day after, and the ones after that, a long line of days filled with Steve and Peter, the future feeling much closer than it had only hours before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop! There is art! Have you seen it? AHH! First, Kamaete put together a series of #SonofStark tweets! You can't handle [the adorable of Tony & Peter together](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5330468/chapters/15107074)! Worship at her altar, people. Wait! More art! starkasticavenger [drew Tony & Peter building robots together](http://starkasticavenger.tumblr.com/post/142990235180/) (!!!!), and whadyameanhesdead [drew Clint's tweet](http://whadyameanhesdead.tumblr.com/post/143103289036)!!! Shower these wonderfully creative people in love, won't you?
> 
> So, this was a heavy chapter, but hopefully the catharsis came through, as well. Everything is out there, and the world didn't end for either of them. Which, yeah, I think it is pretty obvious that Steve is in this until the end of the line. He more or less handed Tony his soul in the form of dog tags, and asked for him to keep it safe. Sure, it would have been nice if Tony had pumped the brakes a bit while telling Steve what happened, but sometimes you just need to keep going once you untap something so emotional.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for cheering me on! This week has been strangely emotional, as I've been forced to think deep, adult thoughts, and all your feedback/investment in this universe has been a source of strength and inspiration to me. You rock!!!!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy is good for Steve. Clint might be having a bit too much fun dealing with the whole #SonofStark thing. Since he's on a roll, Steve and Bucky have a long overdue discussion. Sometimes, you just _know_ something's right, and take the plunge.

“I’ve decided to stop wearing my dog tags.”

Coulson arched an eyebrow, and checked the time. “I like how you waited until we had five minutes left on the clock before bringing this up.”

Steve’s mouth twisted to the side as he fought a smile. “There was a lot of other stuff to cover.”

“Sure,” Coulson answered, leveling Steve with a ‘stop trying to bullshit me’ look. “I’ll give you points for that one. There _has_ been a lot keeping you busy. Probably too busy to have that talk with your brother.” Steve opened and closed his mouth, then sighed. “Hey, it was _your_ idea, I’m only following up.”

“I _planned_ to, but then Tony’s friends cornered me, and the internet exploded,” Steve insisted, feeling like he was doing a pretty fair impression of Peter when he was making excuses as to why his room wasn’t tidied.

“Mm hmm. Well, you get a pass this time,” Coulson said, closing his notebook, “what with all the progress made on other fronts.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Tony has them now. The dog tags.”

“I figured he might. How’d that feel?”

“Terrifying. Liberating.” Steve thought on it, then added, “He put them on, and for a second I wanted to dive across the bed to take them back. Not, ah, not because I _wanted_ them, but… I don’t know. I think I was worried they’d hurt Tony somehow.”

“ _Right_ , because you’re contaminated,” Coulson said in that deadpan way of his.

Steve often fluctuated wildly between wanting to get into a shouting match with Coulson, and wanting to ask the man to come by the shop to hang out after their sessions. At the moment, he opted for laughing, because Coulson was right, and Steve was feeling pretty good, all things considered.

“I manfully resisted the urge, I’ll have you know.”

“Naturally.” Coulson shifted forward in his seat, wiseass smile firmly in place. “Come on, let’s hear the rest of it, Rogers.”

“I _like_ that he decided to wear them,” Steve admitted, shrugging a shoulder. Coulson motioned for him to continue, so Steve did, even if he felt his face growing hot with embarrassment. “I’ve worn them almost nonstop since I was eighteen. Uh… Which you already know, obviously. Seeing Tony put them on… I guess I felt accepted?”

“Acceptance is good,” Coulson said, his tone making it clear he expected Steve to keep talking.

Groaning, Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, and stared at the ceiling, before raising his hands in defeat. “I happen to find it incredibly hot, okay? Maybe it’s borderline possessive, but I love knowing that he’s walking around wearing what feels like a part of me. Shit, I practically told Tony I was going to marry him after he put them on.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the possessiveness, unless it starts manifesting in other ways,” Coulson reassured him. “You’re in love. You’re supposed to get all stupid over him wearing your clothes or jewelry, and gaze into each other’s eyes. Crap like that. Not everyone still feels that way about their partner a year in, so enjoy yourself.”

Steve ducked his head as he tried to smother his grin. “I will. I don’t think I have a choice about it. And you know what? Part of me actually _likes_ that the press found out about us. Which is crazy, so, ah, please feel free to remind me I said that when I need you to testify on my behalf after I smash some scumbag’s camera.”

“It’s a deal.” Coulson shook his head as he got out of his seat, but he was smiling as well. “I hope you appreciate how much ground you’ve gained, Steve. A couple of weeks ago, I think you would have had a much different response to what’s been happening in your life.”

After a deep breath, Steve stood as well, and shook Coulson’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Be sure to thank yourself, too.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed.

Once he was outside, Steve took a moment to enjoy the sunshine on his face, then checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. A text message was waiting from Tony with a request he give a call, so Steve popped on his sunglasses, and did just that as he headed for his car.

“Hey,” Tony answered, sounding out of breath. There was a wail of guitars audible in the background, and it made Steve smile, imagining Tony in full on inventing-mode at the workshop.

“Hey, yourself. Just got out of my session and saw your text. What’s up, everything okay?”

“Hang on.” There was some banging, then the music went quiet. “Okay, that’s better, I can actually hear. Ben and May have Peter this weekend, right?”

"Yup.”

“That’s what I thought,” Tony said, sounding distracted.

Steve slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door, curiosity piqued. “Why, is there an event, or—”

“No, no,” Tony said, sighing, “nothing like that. Pepper and Rhodey want to have dinner tonight so we can finally, ah, try again with the whole having a rational conversation thing.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, right?”

“Sure. Um. Is there any chance you’d be willing to join us?” Tony asked the question in a rush, then plowed on before Steve could answer. “I know they weren’t exactly civil last time around, but they’re my oldest friends, and I think part of the problem is that they don’t know you, so I thought if we could—”

“I’ll go,” Steve interrupted. “If you want me there, I’m there, Tony. They’re your family. The last thing I want to do is come between you and them, so I’m happy to do whatever you need me to do.”

There was a loud sigh of relief. “Thank you,” Tony said. “They’re going to meet me at the penthouse sometime after six. I considered making reservations, but I think it might be nice to keep it behind closed doors. Just in case.”

“Not the worst idea.” Steve chewed on his lower lip. “Do they know I’m coming?”

“Err.”

“You might want to tell them,” Steve suggested, “but I’ll be there either way. Want some help with dinner?”

“That would be amazing,” Tony said, still sounding relieved. “You should, ah, bring your overnight bag, too.”

Steve smiled to himself, heart tripping happily in his chest. “I’ll be sure to do that. See you around five?”

“Let yourself in and call if I’m not there yet,” Tony answered. “I’m sort of on a roll today, so it’s entirely possible I’ll forget the world exists.”

They said their goodbyes, and Steve stared at his phone for a moment, before sucking it up, and calling Bucky to ask if he could swing by the shop to chat. Part of him was hopeful his brother would be busy, but the rest of him was thinking of his talk with Coulson, and Tony’s mention of being on a roll. Despite a week of epic ups and downs, Steve felt the same way, only about _himself_ , which was an unfamiliar sensation.

Memorial Day had been a shitshow, but in the end he’d found himself with Natasha in his corner once again. Of course, the emotional fallout of that day had felt like a picnic compared to finally learning what had happened the morning of his breakdown. Steve’s heart still ached with remorse over what Tony had endured, but that was only right. If he ever felt his resolve slipping, he could reach down deep for that pain, and remind himself of what was at stake.

After everything was said and done, Steve had felt so emotionally wrung out it was almost like being stuck with a hangover. But Tony had been there by his side, calm, and strong, and supportive, so Steve had focused on that particular miracle, and somehow he’d survived the onslaught of guilt. The hours he, Tony, and Peter had spent curled up together hadn’t hurt, either.

By the time Thursday had rolled around, Peter seemed reassured that he wasn’t going to be abandoned, once again able to sleep the night without issue. Steve had still given him the choice to switch weekends, postponing sleeping over at the Parkers’ house, but Peter had passed. Since he was back to being his adorable self again, Steve figured it would be okay, although he made a point of giving Ben and May a heads up, in case Peter changed his mind, or had another nightmare.

Thankfully, that had been a one time event. Steve wondered if part of the reason was because Peter had picked up on the increased happiness and peace of mind his father was experiencing. Or maybe it was that Tony had slept at their place each night that week, giving the three of them plenty of time together. Whatever the case, Steve was relieved.

Since Clint’s tweet, the shop had been overrun by curious persons wanting a look at Tony Stark’s boyfriend, which for some reason delighted Clint to no end. He’d turned it into a sport, where he got right up in their faces, taking video and being so aggressively polite while asking them their names, and why they were in the shop, and who _they_ were sleeping with that more than half of them had actually gotten the point, apologized, and left without a fuss. The truly repentant got a pass, but anyone that rubbed Clint the wrong way had their video posted online. Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha had all placed bets on when they expected the tide to shift, and people to start visiting because of Clint’s growing popularity on YouTube, rather than to stare at Steve.

Actual paparazzi had gotten involved, which resulted in at least one instance of being photographed from across the street while heading out in the morning to drop Peter off at preschool. More than once, Steve had caught Tony watching him, as if he was waiting for Steve to suddenly change his mind, now that the circus was picking up steam. Reassurances aside, it would probably take some time before Tony was able to believe Steve could handle the additional stress, and intrusion into their personal lives.

Really, Steve was trying to ignore it as best he could, hoping the fascination would die off, but he knew they probably weren’t going to be so lucky. And at the same time, as he’d confessed to Dr. Coulson, there was that strange little part of him that surprisingly didn’t hate the idea of the cat being out of the bag in such a public way. Hell, there had been moments over the last week where Steve had wanted to go up to the roof in order to shout at the world how stupidly, wonderfully in love he was with Tony Stark, so maybe it was to be expected.

Peter was his primary concern as far as the press, or the curious citizens of New York City were concerned. Tony assured him SI’s legal team had put the word out that the kid was off limits, but really, there was only so much they could do to prevent it from happening. Steve only hoped he would be able to contain his temper if someone ran up to shove a camera in Peter’s face.

Sitting in the office, running through the events of the week with Dr. Coulson, Steve had found himself feeling surprisingly good; focused, and stable in a way he hadn’t been before. As far as Steve was concerned, that constituted being on a roll, so he wanted to keep the momentum going, which was why he’d called his brother.

For some reason, Clint had Bucky in a headlock when Steve walked into the shop. “Hey, Cap!”

“Hawkeye,” Steve said, clapping Clint on the shoulder as he walked past them. “When you’re done with Bucky, send him back?”

Almost immediately, Bucky came running, making plenty of noise so Steve wouldn’t be startled when his brother collided with him playfully, an arm going around Steve’s shoulders. “S’up?”

“In a minute,” Steve said. He gave Bucky a smile, then nodded a greeting to Natasha and her client before ushering Bucky into the office, and closing the door behind them.

Even though he was sprawled on the couch, Steve could see the concern in his brother’s eyes, lingering there beneath the bravado. “I’m fine, Buck, honest,” Steve said. “And _yes_ , I know how much you and Tony hate that word.”

Bucky snorted, and shook his head. “So, you gonna actually tell me what you need to talk about, or just smile all stupid while thinkin’ of Tony?”

“Like you’re any better,” Steve countered, taking a seat.

“Whatever,” Bucky waved him away, smirking. “I like seeing you smile, so we can talk about Tony all you want.” In typical Bucky fashion, he stared at Steve for a moment, and then his entire demeanor shifted. “But I got a feeling you need to get somethin’ off your chest.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I wanted to talk to you because, um… I’ve decided I need to put some serious work into forgiving myself.”

“No shit,” Bucky said, sitting up straighter, his surprise obvious. “Steve, that’s fuckin’ big.”

Steve nodded, and made himself turn to face his brother. “The only way that can happen is if I come to terms with what happened to you.”

Bucky went very still, brows furrowing for a moment, before he grabbed hold of Steve’s shoulder. “You gotta know I _never_ blamed you for that, Steve.”

Sucking air in through his teeth, Steve ducked his chin, needing a moment before he could meet his brother’s eyes. “I know,” he said once he could speak. “ _You_ didn’t have to. I did. I still do. I probably always will, to some extent.”

“What, and I don't get a say?” Bucky asked, eyes flashing. “That's bullshit, Steve, you saved my life! I'm kinda extremely fucking grateful for that fact.”

Steve’s leg cramped up for a moment, the sensation quickly passing. It was only in his mind, anyway. The physical wounds he’d sustained while saving his brother had healed years ago. “Believe me, so am I, but your life wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if you weren't in the Army.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, both hands winding up through his hair, grabbing fistfuls in obvious frustration before he let it fall back to his shoulders. The line of his jaw was tense, the muscle there jumping, as Steve waited for a response.

“Go ahead and say everything you wanna say,” Bucky suggested after clearing his throat. “I’ll chime in at the end.”

His brother’s intense pale eyes watching him, Steve opened and closed his mouth, then sighed. “Natasha gave me an earful the other day about shouldering the blame for things outside of my control,” Steve said, “and I’m starting to see that she’s right. I get that, _logically_. But you know how I am, Buck. Shit, I blame myself for my Ma dying, and I was six.”

Steve’s knee started bobbing as he tried to get his thoughts in order. “You joined the Army because I joined, and it was the same with Special Forces, and—”

“Yeah, I take it back, I gotta jump in now,” Bucky interrupted. “You wanna know the truth, Stevie? I can admit, I wasn’t thinking of the Army until you hauled off and signed up, but you’re not the _only_ reason I joined.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Bucky laughed, and sank back against the couch cushions, shaking his head, before refocusing on Steve. “I didn’t have your patriotic streak, but I also didn’t have your grades, or artistic talent, or any fuckin’ clue what I was gonna do with myself after high school. Go to college? For what? And with what money? The dads woulda done their best to help, but we were in that middle class sweet spot that meant we had too much for handouts, but not enough to pay for a full ride without scholarships, and no one was givin’ me one of those. Hell, I already owed our folks as it was for taking me in when you were the one they really wanted, so I wasn't gonna ask them to front me the cash.”

“Buck—”

“Come on, I know you like to remember shit _your_ way, but I had one hell of a chip on my shoulder over the whole ‘buy one, get one free’ thing when I was a teenager.”

Steve wanted to argue, but there really wasn't a point. For a while there, Bucky hadn't seen the humor in the joke, had taken it to heart in a way no one had intended. “I guess I forgot. You don’t still—”

“No way, haven’t for ages. I was busy being a teenager, and didn't get how much they loved me. _Now_ it's funny. Anyway, my point is, I didn't have plans, not like you, or our friends in the neighborhood. The Army sounded a hell of a lot better than takin’ a dead end job, or actually figuring out what the hell to do with myself.”

“You’re smarter than you think, Bucky. You would have found something.”

Bucky nudged Steve’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Sure. _Something_. Just not _the_ thing. Right now, I actually feel like I've got a calling, Steve. That's pretty epic, and it’s one that never would’ve occurred to me in a million years if I’d stayed a civilian.”

“Maybe.”

“Stubborn ass,” Bucky grumbled. He glared at Steve, but there was no heat to his words, and the expression he was wearing was more sarcastic than anything. “How ‘bout you trust that I’m the expert on _me_ , okay?”

“Okay. You’re right,” Steve raised his hands in defeat.

“So there’s me at loose ends, feelin’ low about my prospects, and all around aimless. I figured it was something to try at least. Meant when everyone got to talkin’ about their plans, I finally had something to say that wasn’t lame as hell.” Bucky snorted, and shot Steve a cheeky smile. “Actually, it got me laid like you wouldn’t believe.”

The laughter punched its way out of Steve, Bucky joining in, their shoulders knocking together until they got themselves back under control.

“ _That_ I remember,” Steve sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bucky teased, waggling his eyebrows. “Point is, I had my own reasons. I didn’t really think I’d make it through basic, cause it sounded like a lot of bullshit, but truth is, once we got in there? I liked it. I liked the routine, the order of it all, and the camaraderie. All of a sudden I was a part of somethin’ big, and important. And I was _good_ at it, Steve.”

Bucky was looking him right in the eye, as if daring Steve to contradict him, but they both knew that doing so would make Steve a liar. “Yes, you were,” Steve said, and something in his chest eased ever so slightly at the admission. “Exceptional, actually.”

“There you go, then,” Bucky said, folding his arms across his chest. “I still miss it some days. I think reconciling _that_ is the hardest part for me most of the time. Not losing the arm. The… the fact that even with all the awful shit, I can sit here and honestly say some of my best memories are from those days, ya know? It wasn’t the same for me as it was for you—I wasn’t carrying all that responsibility—so a lot of the time it was _fun_. Fucked up or not, it’s the truth.”

Steve searched Bucky’s face for some sign that he was exaggerating, or trying to soften the blow, but he appeared almost guilty over the confession. “We did meet some amazing people,” Steve conceded once he trusted his voice.

“Yeah we did,” Bucky agreed, pinning Steve with his eyes, “and I’m _marrying_ one of ‘em, Steve. Clint _hated_ me until I mouthed off to him while hitting a target dead-on without lookin’, then _bam_! Best fuckin’ friends. That wouldn’t have happened if we’d run into each other in a bar or something. He’s the _love of my life_ , Steve. You gettin’ this at all?”

Bucky’s eyes were bright with tears, and Steve could only nod, because _yes_ , he got it now. He’d said as much to Tony earlier in the week. The more his perspective shifted, the more the idea of changing the past became borderline terrifying. If he hadn’t gone into the Army, he wouldn’t have met Richard, or Mary, and therefore would never have experienced the joy of being Peter’s father. He’d never have met Natasha, or learned how to tattoo, would never have had a reason to open a tattoo shop, which meant Tony Stark wouldn’t have walked into his shop, and completely upended Steve’s life in the best possible way.

“That guy out there? Lovin’ him is the best part of being alive, Steve. We both know I can be just as stubborn, and maybe twice as oblivious as you. I wanted Clint so bad, for so long, but I was all turned around, and lying to myself, makin’ excuses as to how it was some crazy side effect of spending so much time together. But the truth was? I was scared. It was too big, so I tried like hell to hide from the truth, right up until I went and got blown up. Then it was total fuckin’ clarity time.”

Bucky’s face twisted in pain, his eyes going bright with tears. “I hate knowing you’ve been torturing yourself over somethin’ I’m _grateful_ for, Steve,” Bucky managed, his voice breaking. “I had an epiphany right when I thought I’d lost my chance. Only I got a second go ‘round. I got to open my eyes again, and there was Clint, waitin’ for me.” Bucky smiled then, the tears spilling over at last. “And that happened because of _you_ , Steve. Every minute of every hour of every _day_ I’ve spent lovin’ Clint is because you _saved my life_.”

Steve gave up holding back his own tears, and let Bucky pull him into a hug, his mismatched arms wrapping Steve up tight. “I got guilt, too, you know?” Bucky said against the top of Steve’s head. “I hate feeling like my happiness came at the expense of yours.”

“Bucky, that’s not true,” Steve argued, the words somewhat muffled since they were spoken through tears, and against Bucky’s chest.

“Guilt ain’t logical. You of all people should know that.” Bucky kissed Steve’s temple, and put some space between them, just enough to be able to stare into Steve’s eyes, while holding onto his shoulders. “I love you, Steve. I know you love me, too. So do me a favor, and stop using the choices I made, and shit that rolled downhill from way above your paygrade as an excuse to hurt yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky shifted his grip so that he was holding Steve’s face in his hands. “It’s hard,” Steve answered weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hearing that. Trying to… to believe it? It should be a _relief_ , but it’s not. It’s terrifying.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Bucky smiled, a sad, wobbly little smile. “But you know what? You don’t gotta do it all at once, Steve. Little at a time, steady as she goes. Maybe it’s only a couple minutes here and there at first, and then an hour, or a day. Before you know it, you might go a whole week without missin’ that weight.”

Steve nodded, sniffling. “Little at a time, huh?”

“Doesn’t sound so bad, right?” Bucky leaned over, and kissed Steve’s forehead, then mussed up his hair, another of those bright smiles making an appearance. “You’re my brother, and I love you, but even if you weren’t, I'd have told you the exact same thing. We all felt lucky to serve with you, Steve. You cared about each and every one of us, looked out for our interests, fought for us, and _with_ us. If anyone deserves a little happily ever after, it’s you.”

“I'm working on it,” Steve said, smiling to himself at the thought of Tony.

Bucky smirked, and shook his head, giving Steve a playful shove. “Man, are we a couple of lovesick saps or what?” Bucky teased.

“Please, you're _way_ worse.”

“Bullshit, I am!”

Steve couldn't stop smiling, which wasn't helping his case. “We could call it a tie,” he suggested. With a sigh, Steve wiped at his face, and let himself sink back against the cushions. “Although…”

“What?” Bucky sat up straighter, eyes narrowed. “I swear to fuck, Stevie, if you run off and elope—”

“I'm not eloping,” Steve swore, feeling his face heat up as he thought of his dog tags nestled against Tony’s chest. “I had something else in mind.”

Bucky was still staring at him, like if he looked hard enough he'd be able to see what Steve was planning. Of course, if anyone could, it'd be his brother. “Movin’ in together?”

Hearing it made Steve's heart give a happy little lurch. “Eventually, I hope.”

“Like he'd say no,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Alright, out with it then.”

Steve ducked his head, then shrugged, and placed a hand over his chest. “I figured out what I want to have tattooed here.” Bucky's eyes went wide. “I was going to ask Natasha if she could fit me in today.”

“Hell's yeah! Show me the sketch,” Bucky asked, grinning ear to ear. “If it features his ass, Clint owes me a million dollars.”

“What?” Steve shoved Bucky, adding, “I am not getting a tattoo of Tony's ass!”

“I wasn't judging,” Bucky swore, leaning out of reach when Steve went to give him another shove. “He's got a really nice ass.”

“First, stop looking at his ass,” Steve said, prompting Bucky to snicker, “second, I was thinking something a little simpler, and less objectifying. Like his name.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, eyes going a bit wide. “So… Wow. _Just_ his name?”

“Why, do you think he'd hate it?” Steve asked, suddenly worried.

“No, it's… All your tattoos are these complex, symbolic pieces of art. And after all the years of hemmin’ and hawin’ over what gets the prime place of honor, guess I wasn't thinking you'd go with something so… obvious.”

“That's sort of the point,” Steve said. “The rest of my tattoos are tied up with all the shit I'm dealing with in therapy, but I don't have anything to hide when it comes to Tony. I love him, and the whole world can know, far as I'm concerned.”

Bucky looked like he might cry for a moment, but then he grinned ear to ear. “That's good logic there, Steve. I say go for it.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “Really, Bucky. Thank you. For everything. I know seeing what I’ve been going through hasn’t been easy on you. I hope you know how grateful I am that you were there to help me back up on my feet after I hit bottom.”

“Don't worry ‘bout me. As long as you're takin’ care of yourself, I'm happy.”

“This whole thing with Tony could have been much worse if you and Clint hadn't been there to support him,” Steve sighed. “The folks, too.”

“I'm your brother,” Bucky said, patting Steve's knee. “It's my job to look out for your best interests when you're havin’ trouble doing it yourself. ‘Course, now things are more stable, expect to get the shit teased out of you for being so _precious_.”

Steve shook his head, smothering a smile and attempting to ignore the kissy faces Bucky was making. “I was about to say it’s a shame Peter's an only child, since he’ll miss out on that sort of bond, but then you had to go and ruin it for me.”

Bucky stuck his tongue out, then twisted his hair up into a sloppy bun, pulling a rubber band from his wrist to secure it in place. “Yeah, well, you love it.”

“Fair enough. I still remember being an only child. It was lonely. And… I know it sounds morbid, but some day I'll be gone. Hopefully Peter has a family of his own by then, but,” Steve struggled for a moment, thinking of his mother, and how she only existed inside of his own memories. “It'd be easier, I bet, having a brother or sister. Someone else who remembers, and shared your childhood with you.”

With a sigh, Bucky reached out to squeeze the back of Steve’s neck. “I know what you mean,” he said. “But I _also_ know for a fact there’s plenty of kids out there that are in the same situation we were in before the Howlies came along. Being adopted by you and Tony would be a lot like winning the lottery.”

“That’s getting ahead of myself a bit, isn’t it?” Steve shifted uncomfortably, mostly because he’d had the same thought himself more than once since properly involving Tony in Peter’s life. “We haven’t even discussed living together.”

“S’not like I’m suggestin’ you pick up a couple kids on your way back from the grocery store,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “You’re a commitment kinda guy, Stevie, so the whole living together thing is only a matter of time. It might be too soon to act on anything right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start _thinking_ about the future, right?”

A smile fought its way onto Steve’s face, prompting Bucky to make an, “Ah ha,” sort of noise. “Yeah, look at you,” Bucky teased, “you totally wanna raise mountains of babies with the guy!”

“Shut up.”

“I swear to fuck, if you go and get married before me an’ Clint, he’s gonna _lose_ it,” Bucky said, hopping up off of the couch to avoid Steve’s attempt to put him in a headlock. “When he’s not busy defending your honor online, he’s reading all these crazy bridal magazines, and askin’ me which hors d'oeuvres best convey our shared love of ranged weaponry.”

Steve gave up, and let himself laugh. Some of it was simply the insanity of Clint potentially turning into Bridezilla, but the rest was down to Steve making a conscious choice to allow himself to experience simple _happiness_. After all, Bucky was getting married to his best friend, and Steve had a future to start planning.

“You’re safe on that front,” Steve insisted, letting Bucky pull him up off the couch, and onto his feet. “Sticking around to watch the show, or do you have places to be?”

“Oh, I am _not_ missin’ this,” Bucky answered. He hooked an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and gave him a little shake, spinning Steve around to face him as they reached the door. “Hey, I’m real glad we had this talk. I know the sorta fight you’re in, and since comin’ home I’ve seen way too many people get stuck in dark places. And I gotta say—honestly, Steve—you’ve been _so_ fuckin’ brave. Anything you need, any way I can help, I’m there, okay? Even if it’s just to sit on the roof, and watch the city like we used to do when we were kids.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve managed around the lump in his throat. “I’m glad, too. It was a long time coming.”

“Better now than never,” Bucky pointed out, pulling Steve into another hug. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Steve answered, squeezing his eyes shut. “And I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“Good. Alright. Ready to head out there?”

Steve took a deep breath, wiped at his cheeks one last time, and nodded. “Lead the way.”

All told, it took longer to clear the shop than it did for Natasha to work four letters into Steve’s skin. Really, Steve would have been happy for it to take hours, like every other piece Natasha had given him over the years. It seemed unfair that something so momentous could be over and done with so quickly.

“I hope you realize you’ve been smiling since sitting down,” Natasha said as she inspected the final results. She was smiling herself, a small thing curling up one side of her mouth. “That’s not usually the case when you’re in the chair.”

If anything, Steve’s smile grew larger. “Yeah, apparently I’ve been doing it wrong.”

“I can’t believe it finally happened,” Clint said, sounding dazed. He snapped off a photo with his phone, adding, “Sam,” when Steve gave him a look. “How’s it feel?”

Steve wasn’t sure how to put the sensation into words. Natasha was right; every other time he’d sat in the chair, the mood had been solemn, if not downright somber. Considering what his other tattoos represented, it wasn’t too surprising. Finally getting a tattoo that was a celebration of something beautiful was an altogether different experience, one Steve was looking forward to experiencing again and again.

“It feels like a beginning,” Steve ultimately said.

And it was strange, and wonderful, how each of them reached out to touch him in the moment, as if wanting or needing to reassure Steve that they were there with him, had his back, loved him. Natasha’s slim fingers curled around his wrist, while Clint squeezed Steve’s shoulder, and Bucky tousled Steve’s hair.

“I like it,” Clint said, tapping his phone against his chin. “Although, I still think it’d be badass to have some sorta Frank Frazetta-esque epic back piece featuring you and Tony valiantly fighting against homophobia, and an endless horde of paparazzi.”

Steve groaned, and hung his head. “Which is exactly why Natasha does my tattoos.”

Natasha hummed as she tugged off her gloves, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It _would_ make a nice poster for the shop window, at the very least.”

“Fuck yeah, Tasha’s on my side,” Clint whooped, prompting Steve to laugh.

Steve was too wrapped up in seeing his reflection to react, the reality of Tony’s name being emblazoned upon his skin and out there for everyone to see catching him out in a weird way. Happiness and a sense of rightness warred with regret. Not over having the tattoo done, but over all the others, all the pain and misery disguised as something pretty, permanently covering almost half of his body. But really, it seemed wrong to regret the older pieces. They’d helped Steve cope with everything eating away at his heart and his mind, serving almost as a set of battlescars for the wounds no one could see.

Pushing through the moment, Steve focused on all the untouched skin still waiting to be filled. On the lingering sensation of _beginning_.

“Good?” Natasha asked softly.

Steve managed to look away from his reflection, met her eyes, and smiled again. “Yeah. Very good. Thanks, Tasha.”

“Any time,” she answered. Carefully, Natasha covered the tattoo with a gauze pad, taped it in place, and handed Steve his shirt before saluting him.

Straightening up, Steve returned the salute, then shrugged back into his shirt, feeling significantly lighter, and surprisingly giddy. The hours ahead of him before he would get to see Tony again felt unfair, but sitting around smiling his face off certainly wasn’t going to help pass the time any.

“Alright,” Steve said, feeling a renewed sense of purpose, and strength. “Let’s get back to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kamaete continues to slay my heart, people. [GO LOOK](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5330468/chapters/15226399) at Steve snuggling Peter, and then Tony, and the DOG TAGS!!! XD I'm dying. Dead.
> 
> I'm also thrilled with how many of you have a nice vicarious sense of catharsis over the last chapter. Tony so needed those missing pieces of the puzzle. And these two... are so... in love... it is borderline disgusting. Bucky, please do tease the shit out of them. Not that Bucky is any better, the sap.
> 
> Meanwhile, oh. Look. 200,000+ works in, and we FINALLY get the Tony tattoo on Steve's chest. I have no regrets. Also, again, please worship at Ishtar12's altar over the suggestion of Coulson as Steve's therapist. I can so easily imagine these two working together to get Steve through his issues.
> 
> Steve really is on a roll, though, having those important conversations, and making a point of trying to forgive himself. I'm so proud, Steve.
> 
> Also, if I disappear, it is because I'm hiding from Civil War spoilers. I won't be able to see it until Saturday. And... Oh man, I have so many feelings already. *bites fingers*
> 
> This week's chapter is a little shorter, but next week's is _over_ 12K, so... *shifty eyes*


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony sees the tattoo. Rhodey, Pepper, Steve, and Tony talk. Scared together is only another way to say, "I love you."

“That’s not even remotely fair,” Tony shouted, letting the door swing shut behind him. “You’ve been here, what, twenty minutes? And it already smells amazing.”

Steve turned to glance over his shoulder, the look in his eyes stopping Tony dead in his tracks. “It’s only garlic, onions, and olive oil,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “How was your day?”

There was an answer for this question, Tony was positive there had to be, but at that particular moment, he was damned if he could come up with anything to say. Steve’s eyes were warm, something almost playful in his smile as he tossed the towel on the counter behind him. Tony returned the smile, noticing Steve had shaved since their kiss goodbye that morning, and dressed up a bit, as well, shirt sleeves folded to his elbows, all crisp, and tidy.

Music was playing—Ella Fitzgerald’s lovely voice filling the air—a pot of coffee was already on, and for maybe the first time since moving into the place, Tony was struck dumb by a sense of being _home_. Apparently, what the penthouse had been missing all those years was for Steve to be waiting for him when he walked through the door.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, the beginnings of a furrow in his brow.

“Yuh huh.” With a less than elegant shimmy, Tony worked himself out of his suit jacket, tossed it across the back of the couch, and headed for Steve, his stomach fluttering with nerves, or happiness, or some weird combination of the two. “Gimme some sugar, sugar.”

Steve snickered at this, but he also snagged Tony around the waist, pulled him in close. “Very smooth,” Steve said, capturing Tony’s mouth for a kiss, then another.

“You like that?” Tony asked between kisses.

“Mm,” was the extent of Steve’s reply, but that was fine by Tony. He pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, humming happily as one of Steve’s large hands slid lower to squeeze his ass, the other curling around the back of Tony’s neck to hold him still for more kissing. Tony had only a moment to enjoy the hot slide of Steve’s tongue against his own before it was all over.

“Aww.”

“My onions are going to burn. Come make out closer to the stove, so I can multitask,” Steve suggested.

“Why do I foresee this ending in tragedy?” Tony asked, but he allowed Steve to pull him along anyway. “You seem to be in a _really_ good mood.”

Steve smiled to himself—a shy, lovely thing—before kissing Tony again. “I am.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but _why_?” Tony swallowed, unsure as to why he was so nervous. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re in a good mood, you should have tons of good moods. All the really good moods you can handle. But, ah, I can’t promise Pepper and Rhodey—”

“Hey,” Steve interrupted.

Tony took a shaky breath, and stared up at Steve, waiting for some clarity, or reassurance, or… Really, he had no idea why he was suddenly freaking out, only that it was happening.

“Don’t worry about Pepper and Rhodey. They both love you, and once they see that you’re happy, and safe, they’ll come around,” Steve said, pausing to stir the onions and garlic. “I know it might not happen tonight, but it will eventually.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked. With a sigh, he wriggled around until he could hide his face against Steve’s shoulder.

“Can’t see why that wouldn’t be the case,” Steve said. “Anyway, Dr. Coulson and I had a good session today, and then me and Buck got together. We finally talked about him losing his arm, and… and me blaming myself for that. How I shouldn’t.”

“Holy shit,” Tony said, pushing himself back so he could see Steve’s face. There was that old, familiar sadness hanging around the edges, but it was different from before. “That’s… wow. How did _that_ feel?”

Steve pulled a face, and shrugged. “Overdue. He had a lot to say about me carrying the guilt for that day. I know, shocking, huh?”

Tony laughed, even though he felt a bit like crying, wondered if Steve saw it, because suddenly he was being kissed again. “It was good though, Tony.”

“I’m glad.”

“So, if I can handle _that_ and still be in a good mood, Pepper and Rhodey aren’t anything to worry about.”

“I find it hard to argue with your logic,” Tony conceded.

With a smile, Tony gave Steve another squeeze, letting his eyes fall closed as he soaked in the warmth of Steve’s body, and breathed in the scent of him. Fingers wriggled against his lower back, carefully working Tony’s shirt out of his pants so they could slip beneath the fabric, and brush against his skin. Moments later, Steve’s lips were tracing the shell of Tony’s ear, which was a prelude to teeth tugging at the lobe.

Tony shivered, tilted his head to the side to make room, and Steve accepted it for the invitation it was, dragging his lips lower, kissing and sucking and nipping his way down to Tony’s collar, before working his way back up again. Blood was pounding steadily south, which was awesome, but also a very bad idea, considering they were short on time before they’d have company.

“Menace,” Tony sighed, but he grabbed a handful of Steve’s hair, and dragged their mouths together for another kiss. Steve didn’t disappoint, chased down Tony’s tongue, teasing it with his own, while those clever fingers dipped into the cleft of Tony’s ass. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you, too,” Steve growled into Tony’s mouth. He dropped the spatula, and pulled Tony closer, snagging one of his hands in the process. “Been looking forward to seeing you all day,” Steve added, his eyes suddenly serious. “I have something to show you.”

“If you have a paparazzo tied up in the other room, I’m going to be mildly annoyed,” Tony said, relieved when this prompted Steve to laugh. “You do realize that sounded both creepy, _and_ filthy, right?”

“Sorry,” Steve said. He placed Tony’s hand above the right side of his chest, pressed it there with his own, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy.”

“What’s up?” Tony drummed his fingers against Steve’s chest. Tempted as he was to try, guessing was probably only going to get him into trouble, so he opted to wait it out, despite his overwhelming curiosity.

Steve cleared his throat, and looked down at Tony’s hand for a moment before letting go. There was a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks, a sort of shy hopefulness in his eyes. “I finally got my tattoo,” Steve announced, prompting Tony to replay the words several times in his head.

Staring at his hand, Tony realized Steve had placed it above the spot he’d been saving for years, the same empty section of skin Bucky had teased his brother over. “ _The_ tattoo?” Tony asked, searching Steve’s eyes.

“Yup.” Steve shifted nervously, and checked on the onions and garlic again before refocusing on Tony. “Want to see?”

“Do _you_ want me to see it?” Tony asked automatically. Steve’s tattoos were such intimate affairs, it seemed like the question begged asking.

“I do.”

Tony watched Steve watching him, mouth going dry. “Okay, then,” he said. When Steve made no move to take off his shirt, Tony realized Steve was waiting on him, and laughed nervously. “This feels oddly like unwrapping a present.”

“Sounds about right.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Tony slowly unbuttoned Steve's shirt, mildly terrified by what he might find waiting underneath. Sure, Steve was in a good mood, but he'd also had one hell of a week. Tony could be about to reveal some strange, symbolic representation of Steve's guilt over the morning of his breakdown, or… Hell, he could have tattooed the dog tags into his skin, thus negating the need for the ones currently hanging around Tony's neck.

Steve pivoted slightly to add something else to the pan, the sizzling sound making Tony jump with nerves.

“I freaked you out,” Steve said, stirring with his left hand while staring at Tony.

“No,” Tony lied, then added, “okay, sort of. This is _the_ spot. Gravitas mandatory, right? It's a big deal.”

“A very big deal,” Steve agreed, but he was smiling reassuringly. “Like Bucky said, I've been holding off having it done for years, because nothing felt right.”

“And this feels right?”

Tony worked on the final buttons, risking a glance up at Steve, who was watching him with soft, adoring eyes, and a smile hovering around his lips. “It feels _perfect_ ,” Steve said quietly. “Like I've been waiting my whole life to figure out what was missing, and finally found a way to make myself whole again.”

Hands shaking, Tony pushed open Steve’s shirt, fingertips brushing against warm skin as he revealed muscle, and ink, and a bright white gauze pad. When he looked up again, Steve was watching him intently, the blue of his eyes seeming especially sharp and clear. Tony pressed his palms to Steve's sides, dragging thumbs and fingers inward over the enviably defined musculature of his abdomen, surprised by the soft intake of breath, and the flush creeping back into Steve's face.

The anticipation was doing strange things to Tony, had him half hard, and scared, but in the end, curiosity triumphed. With one hand clutching at Steve's hip as if to keep them both steady, Tony peeled the gauze back carefully, looking up into Steve's eyes one last time before allowing himself to see the so called missing piece of Steve Rogers.

In the background, Ella Fitzgerald sang of waiting for the man she loved, the words seemingly slowing, the moment stretching out like taffy as Tony finally saw what the gauze had been concealing.

For the space of several heartbeats, Tony thought it must be some kind of weird prank Steve was playing, because there was no surreal landscape, no symbolic imagery, only four simple letters etched into Steve's skin. The same letters that spelled Tony’s name, which was _crazy_ , but the black was limned by red, the skin raised, and puffy, so if it was a joke, it was one Steve had _really_ committed to.

“It's my name,” Tony said stupidly. “That... doesn't make sense.”

Steve's fingers skated along the edge of Tony's jaw, tipping his chin up so that Steve could look into his eyes. “It makes perfect sense to me,” he said softly.

Tony frowned, felt his face scrunch up in confusion. His heart was racing, and Tony knew he was holding onto Steve hard enough for it to hurt, but he couldn’t let go, seemed stuck in the moment. Panic, and hope, and confusion was warring away in his mind, while beneath his clothes, the dog tags felt heavy, and hot against his skin.

“This isn’t anything like the rest of your tattoos, though,” Tony tried to explain, staring stupidly at his own name emblazoned across Steve’s chest. “I mean, okay, sure, you know how they work, you’re the one who has them, but this doesn’t… It’s just my name, Steve.”

Steve swallowed, and Tony watched the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, wondering if he’d said something wrong. “It isn’t _just_ your name,” Steve said, and Tony had no choice but to look him in the eyes again. “You could never be _just_ anything, Tony. Not to me. You’re _everything_. I didn’t see any reason to disguise that you’re a part of me now. The _best_ part. I wanted anyone to be able to look at the tattoo, and understand that I’m in love with you.”

It wasn’t until Steve turned off the burner, and brushed the tears from Tony’s cheeks that he realized he was crying. “I’m sorry if you hate it, or if it’s too much, too soon,” Steve said, and it all clicked into place in a rush at the sound of doubt and sorrow edging into Steve’s voice.

Because what came next, another lecture about Steve showing _reasonable restraint_? His entire fucking life Tony had dreamed of being loved, the sort of love that didn’t go away as soon as things got tough, or messy. The kind of love that changed you, right down to your DNA, made you into something new, and exciting, some stronger hybrid creation that had never existed before.

Doubting Steve’s feelings in the beginning had been one thing, but how was Tony meant to do anything but _believe_ when presented with evidence like this? His name etched into Steve’s skin, Steve’s dog tags hanging around his neck. Since the first time he’d said I love you—despite the awfulness of living through his breakdown—at every opportunity, Steve had done his best to back those three words up. He’d made room for Tony in his life, had given him the all access pass to his heart and soul, laid himself bare again and again, trusting Tony every step of the way. Steve had called Tony Peter’s _father_ , had faced his demons for a chance at happiness for the three of them, together.

It might have taken forty-one years to get to that moment, but some things were worth waiting for. Steve _loved_ him, and there was no way in hell Tony was going to let his insecurities fuck up accepting the proclamation properly this time around.

“I love it,” he said in a rush, fresh tears spilling as he smiled wide, and joyously. “And I love you, Steve.”

Tony opened his mouth, planning on trying to explain his confusion away, but Steve cut him off with a kiss, the sort of hungry, possessive kiss that made Tony’s breath catch, and his heart race. Eyes opened, Steve’s hands clutching the sides of Tony’s face, their lips met again and again, until Tony’s head was swimming, and the world was reduced to the feeling of Steve’s mouth moving against his own.

Strong arms wound around Tony’s waist, holding him tight, and then they were laughing together, Tony planting a flurry of kisses along Steve’s jaw as they rocked, and swayed in the kitchen.

“You had me worried for a minute there,” Steve sighed, not bothering to his his relief.

“Sorry, that would be the shock.” Tony backed up enough to see Steve’s face again. “You surprised the hell out of me, Steve Rogers.”

“You’re honestly okay with it?” Steve asked.

The look in Steve’s eyes was something else, even if it was familiar. Love, and hope, and fear. It made Tony squirm with guilt as he thought of the moments of doubt he’d allowed himself to experience over the course of the week. It wasn’t as if Steve had come out and given him a reason to worry. It was all Tony reading into things, like the tight line of Steve’s jaw as they hustled Peter into the car while paparazzi scum photographed them from across the street. He’d squeezed Tony’s knee reassuringly as soon as they were on the move, but it didn’t do much to assuage Tony's fears. Intentionally or not, Tony had begun nurturing tiny seeds of doubt and misery and dread, thinking of his past experiences with the press, Steve’s very private approach to living his life, and the incompatibility of the two.

Only, here was Steve, watching him as if Tony was the answer to every important question, shirt hanging open, Tony’s name occupying the sacred spot on his chest. The letters had a tiny amount of flourish to them, but there was no mistaking what they said, the bold simplicity of the new tattoo drawing the eye away from the rest of Steve’s body art. Or maybe that was only Tony, still stunned over what he was seeing, and unable to stop staring.

“I’m definitely okay with it,” Tony said, realizing Steve was still waiting for an answer. “My mind is blown, but I’m good. Great. Holy _shit_ , Steve.”

When Tony tore his gaze away from the ink, he found Steve smiling shyly, strands of hair sticking up in spots thanks to Tony’s fingers running through it as they’d kissed. It was sinking in, the idea that Steve wasn’t going _anywhere_ , that even when the attention of the press became loathsome, Steve would _still_ be there, at Tony’s side. Peter would be there, too, the three of them together.

“Does my good mood make more sense now?”

“Sure does.” Tony giggled, the giddiness overtaking him in a rush. “This is surreal.” Tony reached out to brush his fingertips across the skin just outside of the tattoo, where it was safe to touch. “Never in a million years would I have imagined…”

A shiver ran through Steve at the contact, prompting Tony to do it again, watching the ripple of trembling muscles shifting beneath skin. Steve’s breathing was accelerated, a flush coloring the center of his chest, creeping up his neck, and infusing his cheeks with a healthy glow. Licking his lips, Tony shifted closer, slid his hand across warm flesh to brush his thumb over the nub of Steve’s nipple, pulse jumping in response to Steve’s soft noise of surprise. Swallowing, Tony did it again, thumbing both nipples this time, as he leaned forward to work his mouth hungrily at the curve of Steve’s shoulder, biting down as he sucked blood to the surface.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve groaned, the sound of his name making Tony shudder appreciatively.

Unable to help himself, Tony worried at Steve’s neck, not stopping until a livid mark was left behind, hands roaming across the beautiful musculature of Steve’s sculpted body. A large hand cupped the back of his neck, and then Steve’s mouth was on him again, sucking hungrily at Tony’s lower lip. Tony hummed with pleasure as they kissed, smiling as Steve loosened his tie for him, and undid the top three buttons of his shirt. Steve’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric purposefully, and as soon as he encountered the chain still hanging there around Tony’s neck, he trembled, and moaned into Tony’s mouth.

The sound was devastating, prompted Tony to surge forward, rocking the outline of his thickening cock against Steve’s thigh, hand sliding down between them, until he remembered Steve was dealing with the criminally unfair side effects of the antidepressants, and he began to retreat. Only, Steve snatched his wrist, dragged Tony’s hand lower, while pushing his tongue into Tony’s mouth. He moaned again as Tony’s fingers brushed against the very obvious bulge in Steve’s pants.

“Steve,” Tony gasped. Needing to confirm his suspicions, Tony did some investigative groping, adding, “Holy shit, you’re _hard_.”

“Very,” Steve said breathlessly, making another of those beautifully tortured noises when Tony stroked him through his pants. “Oh, _fuck_ , Tony.”

“Is this the first time since—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve groaned. He pushed himself against Tony’s palm, whimpering. “I’m definitely coming in my pants if you don’t stop.”

“Well, that would be a tremendous waste,” Tony answered in a rush, fumbling with Steve’s zipper.

Feeling ever so slightly wild, Tony pushed Steve back against the edge of the counter, and pulled his pants open, catching the waistband of Steve’s underwear, and yanking everything down in one go. Steve’s cock sprung free, bobbing in the air for a moment before Tony had him in hand, his own dick twitching in his pants. Steve’s hips jerked, his cock throbbing as he attempted to thrust into Tony’s loose grip. He was watching Tony with half lidded, wild eyes, mouth hanging open, face flushed, and pupils blown.

Holding onto the edge of the countertop as if for dear life, Steve licked his lips. “To say I’m desperate to fuck you is the understatement of the century,” he all but growled. “I want to take my time, though.” Steve kept one hand gripping the counter, but the other reached out, and curled around the back of Tony’s neck, fingers slipping between chain and skin. “It feels like it’s been a year since I’ve had my cock in your ass, but if we try anything now, it’ll be over before it’s even started.”

With a twisting corkscrew motion, Tony worked his hand up to Steve’s cockhead, and squeezed before stroking his way back down. Steve was already leaking, had left a sticky trail along the inside of Tony’s wrist, and forearm. “Yeah, I’m right there with you,” Tony whispered. “That’s why I’m going to suck your cock,” he watched Steve’s eyelids flutter in response, “make you come down my throat, and then _later_ , after this stupid dinner is over with, you’re going to take me into the bedroom, and fuck me into the mattress.”

Steve yanked Tony forward, kissed him roughly, all but panting into Tony’s mouth. “I love this plan,” he gasped, grabbing handfuls of Tony’s ass, and squeezing. “Although, this means I’m not going to be able to think of anything else while your friends are here.”

“Even better,” Tony murmured, prompting Steve to laugh.

After another frantic kiss, Tony shoved at Steve’s shoulders so he could get some space between them before dropping to his knees.

“We can move, so you’re more—oh, fuck, _Tony_!”

Any thoughts Steve had about relocating seemed to be forgotten at the first brush of Tony’s lips across the sensitive head of his cock. “You taste amazing,” Tony sighed, licking his lips, and glancing up when Steve whimpered.

That was a mistake. Steve looked absolutely _wrecked_ , teeth biting down into his lower lip, body glistening with a light sheen of sweat as he stared down at Tony in a way that could only be described as worshipful. He hadn’t lied about how close he was to coming, either; Steve’s balls were already tight against his body, precome dribbling down the side of his thick cock to pool against Tony’s hand.

Keeping his eyes on Steve, Tony leaned in, and sucked Steve’s cockhead into his mouth, chasing down the taste of him with his tongue. Steve’s thighs trembled in response, and he spread his legs a little farther apart, bracing himself, before sliding a hand into Tony’s hair. Then it was Tony’s turn to moan, Steve taking the initiative, and thrusting forward, keeping his grip on Tony’s hair loose enough that he could easily take back control if he wanted to. Not that he did. No, Tony was more than happy to palm his own erection through his slacks, and let Steve fuck his mouth.

Steve’s vocabulary seemed to be reduced to _fuck_ and _Tony_ , which was hot, but not nearly as hot as when Steve shifted his grip so he was holding onto both sides of Tony’s face, pumping in earnest now, thumbs massaging the hinges of Tony’s jaw, prompting him to open wider, take Steve deeper. Then they were both moaning, Tony grasping at Steve’s thighs for purchase, breathing raggedly, lips and tongue and throat tingling with stimulation.

It wasn’t often Tony was able to get Steve to let go to such an extent. He tended to get all adorably apologetic whenever his natural instinct to thrust into Tony’s mouth won out, but at the moment, he seemed to trust that Tony would let him know if it was too much, which it definitely wasn’t. He happily slurped, and occasionally gagged, lost to the weight, and the stretch, and the _taste_ of Steve filling his mouth.

Tony fumbled with the fly of his pants, desperate to touch himself. Steve was obviously watching, hips jerking as he moaned, and whimpered, “Perfect, let me see you touch yourself, Tony.”

Dragging his mouth off of Steve’s cock, Tony gasped. “That’s the plan. You feel so fucking good,” he said, stroking Steve even as he stroked himself. “Think you can come like that, or do you want my hand, too?”

“I’m good with your perfect mouth.” Steve had switched to French, the sound of it making Tony’s heart give a little lurch. “Still okay with me setting the pace?”

“Fuck yes,” Tony agreed, sucking at Steve’s balls. “Are you kidding me? It’s hot as hell.”

Taking that as an invitation, Steve grasped Tony’s jaw firmly, pushed his way past Tony’s lips, and then sank his fingers into Tony’s hair once more, moaning loudly as the head of his cock brushed against the back of Tony’s throat. It was hard to say which of them was louder when Steve did it again.

“I love how much you trust me,” Steve gasped. “Only thing hotter is seeing how much it gets you off taking me so deep. _Fuck_ , Tony.”

Tony made some noises in an attempt to convey his profound agreement, and the sensation of the vibrations prompted Steve to thrust even _deeper_. It was heaven, pure and simple. Steve took up a steady, almost punishing rhythm, whimpering beautifully as Tony sucked him down eagerly, fist pumping steadily around his own dick, unashamedly already thinking of _later_ , of Steve’s cock filling his ass.

Steve must have been thinking of later as well, because he was murmuring disjointedly about worshipping Tony with his tongue, which sounded like a great use of their time, as far as Tony was concerned. It also, for no reason whatsoever, prompted him to remember that Pepper and Rhodey each had a set of keys to the penthouse, and access codes for the elevator, and were used to letting themselves in. Considering how they’d left things, he was willing to bet it would be disastrously awkward if his friends decided to show up early, and walked in on Steve enthusiastically fucking Tony’s face. Especially since he’d neglected to mention Steve was going to be in attendance.

Luckily, Steve had reached his limit, and was making those soft, frantic noises that tended to precede orgasm. “ _Tony_ ,” he warned unnecessarily. He’d gone impossibly stiff in Tony’s mouth, had abandoned depth for shallower, rapid thrusts. Tony sucked enthusiastically, tongue writhing against the underside of Steve’s cock, moaning in anticipation.

With a cry of triumph or relief, Steve tensed up, lost all control of his rhythm, and came _hard_ , cursing and gasping as he emptied himself in a seemingly endless stream, so that even as he swallowed, Tony felt come dribbling out of the corners of his mouth. Hands curled possessively around the back of Tony’s head, petting his hair, while Steve shuddered and spasmed, showering Tony with nearly incoherent compliments, still spurting weakly into Tony’s mouth.

Tony was a mess, but he didn’t care, was drunk on sensation, and nearing orgasm himself, staring up at Steve, who was staring back down at him in wonder and awe. Then Steve was moving, was on his knees, with his tongue in Tony’s mouth, each of them moaning in unison as Steve licked and sucked Tony clean as best he could.

“Let me,” Steve murmured between kisses, wrapping his hand around Tony’s cock. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You are,” Tony countered, prompting Steve to laugh. “I didn’t think you were going to, _oh_ , stop coming for a minute there.”

“Me neither.” Steve kissed him frantically, stealing Tony’s ability to think, or breathe, his eyes wild and intense as he worked Tony’s dick, pausing now and again to spit down into his fist. “Your turn, now.”

Moving quickly, Steve had Tony sprawled across the floor before he quite knew what was happening, but then he didn’t care so much, because the slick inferno of Steve's mouth was incredibly distracting. Steve pushed Tony’s clothes out of the way as best he could, large hands roaming everywhere, stroking and petting any part of Tony he could reach. All too soon, Tony was arching up off of the floor, crying out joyously.

Tony stroked Steve’s hair while trying to regroup, higher brain functions having bailed in the wake of orgasm. “I’m tempted to complain about how fucking efficient you are, except I was kind of terrified Pepper and Rhodey were going to walk in on us.”

Thankfully, Steve laughed at the confession, crawling up Tony’s body. He stared down at Tony, grinning ear to ear, all flushed face and sparkling eyes. “If you’re serious, you should probably go wash up.” As if to prove his point, Steve dragged his thumb along the underside of Tony's chin, then sucked it clean, which was as hot as it was unfair.

“Fine. I’ll do that as soon as my legs work,” Tony agreed. “Try to stop looking like you just got laid.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” Steve said, following the words with a kiss. Then another. Five minutes later, Tony was wrapped around Steve like an octopus as they made out on the kitchen floor.

“I think we’re doing it wrong,” Steve moaned. He slid his hand down the back of Tony's pants, and squeezed. “Wasn’t the idea to stop?”

“Shut up,” Tony suggested, but then he glanced at his watch, and groaned. “I take that back. Okay, this time for real. No more kissing!”

Tony punctuated the remark with a kiss, which prompted Steve to lick the end of his nose. Laughing, the two helped each other up off of the floor, Steve staring at the stove as if he’d forgotten why they were in the kitchen in the first place.

“Right, dinner.” Shaking his head, Steve tucked himself back into his pants, and grinned stupidly at Tony. “Now I’m in a _really_ good mood.”

“This is going to be the longest dinner ever.”

Tony sighed wistfully, and headed for the bathroom, washing his face as quickly as possible before moving on to making some more intimate preparations for later in the evening. The dopey post-orgasm smile was still on his face by the time he finished, prompting Tony to shake his head at his own reflection before detouring to the bedroom to put on fresh clothes. When he strolled back into the kitchen, Steve was in full on cooking mode, a shiteating grin slapped on his face.

“Sorry,” Steve said, “the harder I try not to smile, the worse it gets.”

“Mm, don’t apologize, it’s a good look on you.” Tony wrapped himself around Steve’s back, and held on tight. “I still can’t believe you have my name tattooed on your chest.”

“In retrospect, I probably should have asked your permission before having it done, but—”

“No, it’s _perfect_ ,” Tony interrupted, tightening his grip. “I am very happily surprised, Steve. I might never stop being thrilled to see it there.” Letting his eyes fall closed, Tony rested his forehead between Steve’s shoulder blades, and sighed. “It’s… comforting. When those old insecurities make an appearance, and I start second guessing why anyone would put up with the bullshit press to be with _me_ , I can hold onto the dog tags, or think about my name occupying the place of honor on your chest, and remember I’m loved.”

“Very loved.” Steve shifted so he could pull Tony into a proper hug. “I’m not going anywhere, Tony.”

“I know,” Tony said, smiling. “Me neither. It’s still nice to have something tangible representing it, though.”

Steve shifted, the smile fading into something more serious, but whatever he’d planned on saying was cut off by the sound of Tony’s phone ringing. Jerking with surprise, Tony fumbled for the device, grimacing apologetically at Steve. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Hi, Tony,” she said, sounding equal parts hesitant and hopeful. “We’re on our way up from the garage. Is it okay if we use the private elevator?”

“Sure thing,” Tony answered, “see you in a minute.” After hanging up, he held his phone aloft. “They’re on their way.”

“I figured.”

The sudden seriousness had disappeared from Steve’s face, leaving him looking criminally relaxed again. Tony quickly smoothed Steve’s hair back into place, looking him over to see if there were any other visible signs of what they’d been up to. The hickey he’d given Steve was covered by his shirt collar, and he wasn’t nearly as flushed as he’d been earlier, but his eyes were sparkling, and the satisfied smile didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

“One more kiss before they get here?” Steve asked.

“Deal.”

Wasting no time, Steve leaned down to brush their lips together. “They don’t know I’m here, do they?”

“Um, no? Sorry, I’m sorry, I never got around to—”

Another of those soft kisses cut Tony off. “Don’t worry about me,” Steve said, giving Tony a playful smack on the ass. “I actually _like_ your friends when they’re not busy trying to bully me out of your life.”

Tony was still gaping in surprise when his private elevator chimed, announcing Pepper and Rhodey’s arrival. Nerves getting the best of him, Tony ran through the penthouse for the elevator.

“ _Hey_ ,” he called, clapping his hands together before spreading his arms wide. Pepper took one look at him, and laughed. “What? That was totally casual, and not at all awkward and stilted.”

“Of course not,” she agreed. Stepping close, she pressed a kiss to Tony’s cheek, which was at least a promising beginning. “How are you holding up?”

“Uh, not bad.” Tony opened his mouth to give Pepper a heads up on the whole Steve being part of their evening plans thing, but she was already brushing past him to make way for Rhodey to exit the elevator.

“Something smells good,” Rhodey said, “and that greeting was lame.”

“ _You’re_ lame,” Tony answered automatically. “So, ah, I neglected to mention something when we made plans earlier.”

Rhodey opened his mouth, presumably to ask Tony what he’d omitted, but Pepper’s shriek from the other room cut him off. By the time they reached her, Steve was standing a couple feet away with his hands held in the air as if in surrender.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s—I was startled, that’s all. Hi, Steve.” Pepper whirled around to face Tony, one hand clutching at her chest. “Why didn’t you warn me you weren’t alone? I almost had a heart attack!”

“I was in the process,” Tony swore. “How do you even walk so fast on these floors in those heels, anyway? It defies physics.”

“Seriously?” Rhodey asked. “You could’ve just said, ‘Hey, Steve’s having dinner with us,’ like a normal person.”

It was obvious Rhodey was only teasing, but Tony found himself getting angry anyway.

“I didn’t know if you’d even show up if I told you Steve was going to be here,” he snapped. The guilt flared up in his chest, not helped any by the wounded look in Pepper’s eyes. Taking a breath, Tony tried again, his tone less sharp this time. “Can you blame me for thinking that?”

“No,” Pepper said, sighing. “I suppose that’s only fair after the way we behaved.”

Blinking with surprise, Tony looked first to Steve, then to Rhodey, who shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded. “You’re right. We were assholes last time you saw us, so I get it. For the record, we still would’ve been here if you’d told us.”

Tony considered pointing out there was no real way of knowing Rhodey’s claim was the truth, but since it wasn't exactly a generous thought he kept his mouth shut instead. “Well, we’re here now, which is all that matters, and since Steve is in charge of dinner, we get to eat something other than pancakes. Hooray.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably, as if unsure whether he should head back into the kitchen, or attempt to properly greet Tony’s friends, while Pepper and Rhodey exchanged meaningful glances. Not even five minutes in, and it felt like everything was going off the rails. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed at his temples, as if he could push away the dark cloud settling over his mood.

Rhodey cleared his throat. “This whole thing might go a little smoother if we opened with an apology.”

Stomach flip-flopping painfully, Tony thankfully only had a moment to wonder if Rhodey was seriously suggesting he or Steve apologize, before Pepper chimed in.

“Jim’s right. We owe you _both_ an apology.”

For some reason, the words did little to put Tony at ease, but maybe that was his lengthy track record of disappointments getting the best of him. Even though his expression hardly changed at all, Tony could tell Steve was pleasantly surprised. There was even a little optimistic, “I told you it'd be okay,” look happening in his eyes as he tilted his head ever-so-slightly in the direction of the kitchen, where the second attempt to prepare dinner was ongoing.

“Steve's right,” Tony said, ignoring the confused looks this caused his friends to exchange, “if we're starting out with the heavy shit, we should probably relocate before the kitchen goes up in flames.”

“It's not that dire, but I'd hate for the chicken to dry out,” Steve clarified.

“Right, it only gets combustible when I'm in the kitchen.” Steve's eyebrows crept toward his hairline, and Tony felt his face grow hot. “You know what I meant!”

“I didn't say anything.” Steve smiled innocently, and headed for the kitchen, ignoring Tony's cry of, “Yeah, well, your face said plenty.”

By the time Tony made it into the kitchen, Steve had a cup of coffee waiting for him, and was back at the stove. Tony was sighing contentedly into his mug when he noticed Pepper watching him, and remembered that things were supposed to be awkward. Only, Pepper caught his eye and smiled one of those indulgent little smiles she reserved for when Tony had gotten something particularly right, which was confusing, all things considered.

“Ms. Potts, would you or the Lieutenant Colonel like anything to drink?” Steve asked, glancing over his shoulder. “There's iced tea, apple juice, coffee, ginger ale.”

“Iced tea would be lovely, thank you,” Pepper said. “And _please_ , call me Pepper.”

“I've got it,” Tony offered. He grabbed two glasses, and opened the fridge, happy to have something to do.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Considering how we left off last time, I wasn't sure the offer still applied.”

“It absolutely does.”

Rhodey accepted the glass Tony handed over, chiming in. “And you can call me Jim.”

“Alright, Jim.”

Steve turned away from the stove so he wouldn't have his back to the room, and then leaned against the edge of the counter. Tony wondered if he was feeling as calm as he looked. Either way, Tony was nervous as hell, so he grabbed his coffee, and planted himself next to Steve, needing the comfort of proximity.

“Which brings us back to the apology,” Pepper said. “Obviously, we overreacted.”

“That’s one word for it,” Tony muttered, hating the way his comment prompted Pepper’s brows to furrow. “Sorry. I should let you finish.”

“Hell, it’s only fair after the amount of attitude we gave you,” Rhodey said.

Tony tried for a smile, but it fell a bit short. “It wasn’t attitude so much as condescension.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened in surprise. Tony was right there with him on the surprised front, actually, because now that they were face to face, all of the ways in which his friends’ actions had hurt him seemed to have rushed to the forefront of Tony’s mind. With everything else going on that week, he’d done his level best to backburner the Pepper and Rhodey situation, which had obviously been a mistake. The hurt felt fresh in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“I get that I have a history of making less than stellar decisions, and that the two of you were there for me when no one else was,” Tony said, proud that he managed to sound calm. “I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life that you helped me see I needed to go into rehab. But I’m not that kid anymore, and I don’t appreciate being treated like I’m incapable of living my life without your input. And I also know I should probably just shut up, and let you apologize, so we can eat dinner, and pretend everything is fine. But honestly, I’m scared shitless by what you might say.”

Beside him, Steve shifted, and a moment later Tony had a warm hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades.

“Or by what you _won’t_ say,” Tony continued, “because I’m not positive either of you get how awful you made me feel. And that’s just _me_. Let’s not forget you accused Steve of some pretty heinous shit based solely on an overheard conversation.”

Pepper’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, and Tony was hit with the urge to take back what he’d said. It wouldn’t help anything, though, because the truth would still be there, buried deep, slowly eating away at him. Tony had been down that road one too many times to make the same mistake again. Avoiding his problems long-term typically led to drinking himself into a stupor.

“You’re right, Tony,” Pepper said. “We jumped in where we didn’t belong, without any consideration for how it would make you feel, or the position it might put you in. I _hate_ knowing that we hurt you. Please believe me when I say that while I’m disappointed in us, I’m proud of you, and… and how you handled our bad behavior. It’s proof positive of how far you’ve come.”

Tony sighed, chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling out of his depth. They’d never had a fight before that wasn’t his fault, so he wasn’t sure how the hell any of this was meant to work. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but what the hell brought on this aboutface?” Tony asked, cynicism getting the best of him. “Pep, you’ve been super helpful this week with all the PR bullshit, but last time I saw you guys it was a _very_ different experience.”

Pepper and Rhodey glanced at each other. “We saw the photo Clint posted of you, Steve, and Peter,” Pepper said after a moment, “and it prompted us to stop, and reconsider our, ah, interpretation of what was going on.”

“Oh.”

“The two of us have been doing a _lot_ of talking this week,” Rhodey said, once it was obvious Tony wasn’t going to say anything else. “A little change in perspective goes a long way, sometimes. I might have been too busy being a self-righteous ass to actually listen to what you were saying at the time, but I heard the words, Tony. Gave them a lot of thought later.”

“Steve, I am _so_ sorry for the things I said,” Pepper’s voice cracked. Tony didn’t miss the way she reached for Rhodey’s hand before continuing. “They were ugly, and unfounded. We didn’t know about your PTSD before we confronted you.” Pepper glanced at Tony, her eyes bright with tears. “That’s no excuse, of course. It would have been equally awful even if you _weren’t_ dealing with other issues, but I hope our actions haven’t caused any setbacks in your recovery.”

“I don’t blame you for doubting me,” Steve said. “We don’t know each other, and my earlier behavior left a lot to be desired. As far as what happened between the three of us goes, I’m willing to accept your apology, and let bygones be bygones. Frankly, it was your treatment of _Tony_ that bothered me more than anything else.”

Tony wanted to argue, but it wasn’t exactly the time or place for a sidebar on Steve’s self-worth issues.

“Yeah, well, don’t be so quick to let us off the hook. Tony made it pretty clear that hurting you hurts him,” Rhodey pointed out, folding his arms across his chest. “I didn’t want to hear it at the time, but I get it now. Tony, truth is, Steve had your back that day the way we _should_ have. Came right out and told us we weren’t giving you the credit you deserve, and he was right.”

“You didn’t give me _any_ credit,” Tony pointed out.

Pepper swiped at her eyes, nodding. “You’re right, we didn’t.” Sniffling, she blinked rapidly, and then straightened her shoulders. “Hearing the things Natasha and Bruce were saying… Well, I let my guilt and fear get the best of me, Tony, and then acted horribly. I am so, so sorry.”

“What do you have to feel guilty about?” Tony asked gently. “Before Memorial Day, all you ever did was love and support me.”

“But then I _left_ you,” Pepper said, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I took Happy with me, and stayed on the West Coast! And then I let myself get so wrapped up in SI, and the merger that I haven’t made nearly enough time for you since relocating.”

Maybe it was the anguish in Pepper’s voice, or the awfulness of seeing her cry, but Tony set down his coffee, and crossed the kitchen in order to pull her into a hug. “Pepper, come on, you didn’t _leave_ me,” he said, stroking her hair. “You love the West Coast, always have, and you’ve been making amazing strides with the company. So I don’t have to, by the way, don’t forget that part of it. Yeah, I miss the hell out of you, but I’m not selfish enough to want you to… to stay in a city where you’re not happy, just to keep me company.”

“I know,” she said, holding on tight, “but it still feels like I abandoned you when you needed me the most.”

“I’ve got that guilt, too,” Rhodey added. “I’m hardly ever stateside these days. And before you say it, _yes_ , I get that you’re totally capable of fighting your own battles. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Tony. Doesn’t mean I like the idea of you having to face things here alone.”

The anger had petered out, but the hurt was still there, a dull ache lingering beneath everything else. Releasing Pepper, Tony swiped at his cheeks, and shrugged. “Do I miss you? Yes. But it isn’t like you both ran away, or something. I understand worrying about me, and feeling guilty, but a little confidence in me would have been nice, too.”

Pepper nodded, but Rhodey held Tony’s gaze, eyes intense. “I love you, man,” Rhodey said, reaching out to squeeze Tony’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I used that as an excuse to walk all over you.” Rhodey glanced at Steve, then seemed to come to a decision. “I don’t know if you have any idea how incredible it was getting to watch you with Peter on your birthday. With Steve, too. I’ve never seen you so happy, Tones. More than most, I know how much having a family means to you. And… it’s been a _long time_ since you put yourself out there. Even the idea that you were getting played again?”

Tony’s breath caught in his chest, mostly because he could see the fear in Rhodey’s eyes. Since their argument, he’d been thinking of his sobriety, and the shitshow that had been Ty Stone, wondering how his friends thought he wanted to revisit that time in his life. Now, Tony knew that the worry and fear on Rhodey’s face was over something else entirely, like what might have happened if Steve really _had_ been playing games with Tony’s heart, and finally decided he’d had enough.

As illogical as it was, Tony could easily imagine Rhodey thinking it’d be better to have it happen while he and Pepper were around to help pick up the pieces. After all, Rhodey had been there to see how bad things were for him the last time Tony’s heart had been broken.

There had been some exceptionally dodgy moments after Stane’s testimony. That night in particular he’d spent hours sobbing in Rhodey’s arms, questioning why he’d bothered to build the artificial heart prototype in the first place. Tony had been questioning the point of _everything_ , really, of why he was still fighting to stay alive when it seemed like every time he managed to get back up on his feet, someone or something simply kicked him in the teeth, and sent him spiraling back down again.

If he’d been alone, chances were Tony would have come to some very unfortunate conclusions that evening, and perhaps even acted out on them. He hadn’t been drinking, but he _had_ been taking inventory of his life, and feeling a lot like he’d done nothing of worth, had only managed to live down to his father’s expectations. Stane’s obvious hatred and disgust for him, his mother’s indifference, and Howard’s tyranny all made a sick sort of sense if Tony really was _worthless_. And if that was the case, then… what was the point in sticking around?

Only, Rhodey had been there, had held him tight for hours and hours, promising Tony that it was going to get better. He’d reminded Tony that he was loved, and that his life _was_ something worth fighting for. At the time, Tony hadn’t believed him, but he’d hung in there anyway, if only to make his best friend happy, never imagining that years later, he might actually get a chance at some genuine love and happiness.

“You’ve dealt with enough heartache to last a lifetime,” Rhodey said, voice cracking. “Last thing I wanted to do was add to the pile. Hearing what I was hearing scared the hell out of me, Tony, and I didn’t stop to think it through. I know it doesn’t excuse the way I acted, but I did it out of love, and really did think I was protecting you at the time.”

“We know we should have talked to you,” Pepper added, squeezing Tony’s hand. “We both love you so much, Tony. I hope you’ll _both_ be able to forgive us for not treating you with the respect you deserved.”

“Come here,” Tony croaked.

Rhodey stepped into his arms, and held on tight, then shifted to make room for Pepper to join them, which was even better. Tony felt the knot in his chest loosening, as Pepper and Rhodey each whispered additional apologies, and declarations of love while the three hugged.

“I love you, too,” Tony said, wiping at his cheeks, and sighing. “I forgive you, I do, but it’s not that simple. I’m probably going to feel shitty for a while. That’s the reality of the thing.” Tony took a deep breath, and kept going. “We’ve known each other forever, but this is the first time I’ve been in an actual, proper relationship with someone, so I need to make sure we’re all on the same page. Considering my past, I get you assuming I was being secretive out of shame, or because something awful was happening. Thing is, you need to understand I’m going to continue to keep a lot of what happens—good _and_ bad—to myself, because it’s between me and Steve. I kind of think that’s healthy, actually, and hey, my therapist agrees.”

Pepper nodded, but Rhodey hung his head. “You tried to explain that to me months ago,” he said solemnly, “and I didn’t listen. I wish I had. I’m sorry, Tony, and I get it now.” Rhodey glanced at Pepper, then smiled hopefully. “The two of you are building a life together, and we need to respect that.”

“We are,” Tony managed around the lump in his throat. “And I want you both to be part of that life.”

“We want that, too.” Rhodey cleared his throat, and then shifted so he could extend his hand to Steve. “Thank you for being there for Tony when we weren’t. I’m sorry for the things I said. I’m also grateful you’re not the kind of man to back down when the going gets tough. We’d never have forgiven ourselves if we’d actually managed to come between the two of you.”

Steve’s expression remained stern throughout Rhodey’s apology, but he accepted the offered hand, and shook. “I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt, because it did, but I’m trying to be optimistic these days.” Steve glanced at Tony, eyes filled with warmth and adoration, enough to set Tony’s heart racing again. “I’d like to think something good can come out of all this. At any rate, having hope is a lot better than holding a grudge. I meant what I said that day. I love Tony, and I want him to be happy. You’re his family, so I know you want the same.”

“Thank you,” Pepper said. She stepped in close, and wrapped Steve up in a hug, catching him by surprise. “I’m so sorry we hurt you. I hope we can still find a way to be friends.”

“I’d like that,” Steve said.

Tony caught himself pressing his fingertips against the hard, raised spot beneath his shirt, a tiny affirmation that Steve’s dog tags were still there. A wave of unexpected joy washed through Tony at the look Steve gave him upon seeing it happen. Stupidly, Tony wanted to rip Steve’s shirt open, show his friends what was written on Steve’s chest, but at the same time, Tony liked that there were only two people in the room who knew it was there.

Warm fingers curled around his wrist, tugged, and then Tony was pulled into another hug, Steve’s strong arms wrapping him up safe and sound. The last, lingering bits of tension eased away, and Tony didn’t bother trying to resist the urge to kiss Steve. Beautiful blue eyes watched him adoringly as their lips brushed once, twice, before Steve pulled away.

“Dinner first,” he said softly, and Tony burst out laughing, needing the release.

“Right you are,” he agreed. “Anything I can do to help on that front?”

Steve shook his head, the smile lingering on his handsome face. “I’ve got this. Catch up with your friends.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but something in Steve’s eyes made him think the man might want a couple minutes to himself, so he squeezed Steve’s hand, and led Pepper and Rhodey out into the living room.

Pepper slipped her arm around his, and pulled Tony down onto the couch, Rhodey taking up the other side. Tony could hear the sounds of Steve moving in the other room, and it was difficult keeping himself from getting back up, and checking to make sure everything really was okay.

“Hey,” Pepper said softly, smoothing down Tony’s hair.

“If what happened on Memorial Day had happened a couple of weeks earlier—”

Tony shook his head, and covered his mouth with his hands. For a moment, he’d been about to say that Steve would have listened to them, and walked away, but that had more to do with his insecurities than it did with reality. Their words would have destroyed Steve’s confidence, and sent him spiraling deeper into his depression, that much Tony could easily believe. Giving up on them, though? Walking away? That didn’t sound anything like Steve Rogers.

Because Tony remembered being woken up at some ungodly hour by a phone call the night after their big talk, Steve taking a chance, and reaching out for him from that dark place he’d been trapped in. Tony could close his eyes, and still hear the vulnerable edge to Steve’s voice when he’d confessed to being so very scared, but incredibly thankful that he hadn’t missed his chance at being with Tony.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve had promised that night, and he’d been trying to show Tony that it was the truth ever since. Seemed to say it every chance he got, understanding how much Tony needed to hear those words.

The dog tags felt wonderfully heavy around Tony’s neck, a physical reminder of everything he and Steve had built together. And maybe, just maybe, the scariest part of it all was coming to terms with the understanding that _Steve really wasn’t going anywhere_. For someone like Tony, the entire concept was borderline terrifying, but wasn’t that the whole point of being scared together?

Tony wanted to laugh, or cry. Wanted to run back into the other room, and never let go of Steve. He was tempted to do something insane, like buy them an island, and hide there with his family, so no one could threaten their happiness.

Instead, he blurted, “I hope you meant what you said about being his friend, because one of these days, I’m going to marry to that man.”

Pepper’s face lit up, the smile transformative, and Tony found himself in another of those three-way hugs, Rhodey getting in on the action. “We _mean_ it, Tones,” he said, Pepper adding, “I promise, we’re happy for you.”

Logically, Tony knew that nothing had really changed, but that didn’t stop his chest from aching with relief and happiness. It did nothing to chase away the stupid, lovesick smile he couldn’t keep off his face. The feeling refused to be dismissed, building on itself over the course of the evening, fed off of Steve’s equally sappy behavior.

Because whenever he looked up, Tony found Steve watching him with a smile hovering around his mouth. Throughout dinner, he seemed unable to keep his hands off of Tony, initiating countless little moments of contact. Fingers brushing against Tony’s as he passed the salt, Steve’s hand resting on Tony’s thigh beneath the table as they ate, an arm stretched across the back of his chair as they all chatted over dessert.

And when Steve’s cell rang around seven-thirty, Tony knew who was calling before Steve switched the call to speakerphone. “Hey, Petey-pie,” he said in a sing-song. “What jammies are we rocking tonight?”

“Spaceships!”

Steve huddled closer, the two of them sharing a smile over the excitement in Peter’s voice. “Good choice. You can have space exploration dreams.”

“Did you have fun tonight?” Steve asked, fingers carding through Tony’s hair.

“We watched a movie about turtles.” Peter chattered on for a bit, before they reluctantly worked on wrapping up the conversation, since it was technically past his bedtime. “I love you, daddy.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give your aunt and uncle a hug from me, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said around a yawn. “I love you, Tony.”

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek, the happiness so intense it was painful. “I love you, too, Peter,” he answered. He didn’t cry, but it was a close thing. “Sweet dreams.”

Steve disconnected the call after another round of goodbyes, and Tony flopped back in his chair theatrically. “Picking him up now would be a dick move, huh?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it, though.”

Pepper and Rhodey were watching them, and Tony wondered how strange it must seem from their perspective. When he was younger, the idea of kids had scared the shit out of him, mostly because he was convinced it’d somehow turn him into Howard. That had changed over the years as he got sober, and started thinking about what he was going to do with the rest of his life, but after everything with Stane, and his heart, Tony had assumed he’d never get the chance to be a father. And yet there he was, mentally counting down the minutes until he and Steve would see Peter again. Just further proof of how much life could change, if you hung in there long enough.

Tony wondered if Pepper was reading his mind again, because the smile she sent his way was very knowing. He wanted to ask if she and Rhodey had actually discussed the whole secret love bombshell Tony had dropped, but instead, he let the moment pass. They’d get back to that sense of closeness soon enough, but for the time being, he’d leave it up to them to say something if they wanted to. After all, the whole privacy in relationships thing worked both ways.

An hour or so later, when Tony’s friends decided it was time to leave, he wasn’t the only one on the receiving end of hugs, and well wishes. Even better, he was pretty sure no one was faking anything. Steve had been more than ready to forgive—whether he was right to let them off the hook so easily or not—and Pepper and Rhodey seemed intent on proving themselves to Tony.

“Okay,” Tony said once they were alone, “that went better than I expected.”

Steve made a soft sound of agreement, and reached for Tony’s hand, twining their fingers together. Tugging gently, Steve pulled him closer, held Tony’s hand against his chest. “Are you annoyed I was so quick to forgive?”

Tony shook his head, and exhaled shakily. “No. They’re legitimately remorseful. Their intentions were good, so it seems kind of shitty to withhold forgiveness the one time in twenty plus years they’ve gotten it wrong. Even if it _was_ a colossal fuck up.”

The smile that had been driving Tony crazy all evening was making a comeback, lighting up Steve’s face. “If it’s any consolation, I think we were mooning over each other enough to make them queasy for at _least_ a couple more hours.”

The laughter left Tony feeling lighter, enough so that he gave into the urge to tip forward, and shake against Steve’s chest. “Good,” he snorted. “I hope they have nightmares about us gazing longingly into each other’s eyes.”

“Seems a fitting punishment,” Steve agreed.

Tony fussed with Steve’s collar, unbuttoning his shirt enough to be able to see the mark he’d left against Steve’s pale skin earlier in the evening. When he pressed a kiss to the spot, Steve hummed contentedly.

“I was thinking I might hop in the shower,” Tony murmured. “Wanna help me get clean before getting me dirty?”

“Race you,” Steve answered, and took off before Tony had a chance to reply.

Since Steve was efficient, he managed to get naked along the way, leaving Tony to dodge first a shirt, then pants and shoes, Steve’s boxers hitting him in the chest as he strolled into the bathroom. “The no running inside rule applies to _all_ of us, mister, not just Peter.”

“Duly noted.” Steve turned on the shower, and flicked some water Tony’s direction, smiling playfully. “Need any help over there?”

“I’ve had your help before,” Tony teased, taking off his glasses. “Somehow it always takes twice as long getting my clothes off, what with all the kissing, and groping.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Steve was smirking, but his expression shifted _way_ up the intensity scale the moment Tony unbuttoned his shirt, prompting him to look down, then up again. Steve was eyeing the dog tags something fierce, and Tony wondered how strange it must be, seeing someone else wear them after all those years. He toyed with the chain, unsure whether or not he should remove them.

“Leave them on,” Steve said before Tony could ask. “Please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Tony let them settle back against his skin, his own eyes drawn to the tattoo on Steve’s chest. There was that wild, untamed happiness surging through him again over seeing his name inked into Steve’s skin. “I could always get something more permanent?”

Tony had meant for it to sound playful, a bit of teasing in keeping with the celebratory mood, but there was nothing amusing about the effect the words had on Steve. His skin took on a beautiful rosy flush, and Tony watched it spread across his body, coloring his cheeks, and his chest, and even his dick.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked that idea,” Tony said, feeling like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Heart jumping with excitement, Tony unbuttoned his pants, and peeled the fabric back to reveal skin, and his own hardening cock, glad he hadn’t bothered putting on underwear when he’d changed earlier in the evening. “I could put your name right here, along on my hip.”

Steve’s chest was heaving as he crossed the room, and settled his hands onto Tony’s hips. “Take your time and think about it first, if you’re serious,” he said between kisses, fingers tracing lightly over the spot in question.

“Hey,” Tony said, taking Steve’s face in his hands. “I’m _very_ serious.”

The smile this earned him was a bit wobbly around the edges, enough to make Tony want to drag Steve’s ass back to the shop then and there to have the tattoo done. Instead, he reached between them to stroke Steve’s cock, and kissed him until they were both breathing hectically.

Steve pushed Tony’s pants out of the way, and grabbed handfuls of his ass. With a sigh, Tony let go of Steve’s dick, wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders instead, and lost himself to the look in Steve’s eyes as they kissed, and kissed, until his lips felt criminally oversensitized. Steve had one arm wound tightly around Tony’s waist, a hand stroking possessively over the curve of Tony’s ass as he rocked them together, tongue teasing its way into Tony’s mouth.

“You make me crazy,” Steve whispered. He tugged on Tony’s lower lip with his teeth, hands roaming, as if desperate to be everywhere at once, an endless, wonderful caress that was lighting a fire beneath Tony’s skin.

“The feeling is mutual,” Tony said. The words were almost cut off by Steve’s tongue pushing back into his mouth. Tony held on tighter, fingers tangled in Steve’s hair, their heavy breathing managing to drown out the sound of the running water. “Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve stopped kissing him long enough to suck hungrily along the length Tony’s neck.

“Shower, remember?” With a sigh, Tony managed to wriggle himself free of Steve’s grasp. “Sooner I’m clean, the sooner you can fill my ass with come.”

Steve’s mouth fell open in surprise, his face going bright red before he grinned ear to ear. “The mouth on you.”

Tony rolled his eyes, then spun on his heels and headed for the shower. “Please, we both know you love it, pervert.”

Rich, throaty laughter echoed through the room from behind him, sending a shiver down Tony’s spine. Steve caught up with him a moment later, pausing to get himself good and wet under one of the dual showerheads before he crowded up against Tony. Then it was sensory overload time, all of Steve’s warm, slick skin rubbing against him, driving him crazy. Steve grabbed handfuls of Tony’s ass, positioning them so their cocks were trapped between their bodies. The slippery friction was _perfect_ , and Steve kept a steady rhythm going as they kissed with an increasing sense of urgency.

“Turn around,” Steve ordered.

Tony was all too eager to obey, spreading his legs wide and bracing himself against the wall, ass angled toward Steve in clear invitation. There was a throaty chuckle, and then Steve’s thumb brushed against Tony’s opening, a there and gone again tease that had Tony chewing on his lower lip in anticipation. Warm hands settled against Tony’s lower back before fanning out across his skin, fingers curling around his hips. A moment later, Steve pulled him away from the wall, so that he was standing upright again with Steve’s hard cock nestled between his thighs.

“I love the way your skin feels against mine,” Steve sighed, the warm rush of air against Tony’s ear making him shiver.

He stroked lovingly across Tony’s chest, making a soft, satisfied sound upon encountering the dog tags, while his other hand roamed back and forth along Tony’s abdomen, and the curve of his hip, fingers dragging over the spot where he’d threatened to have Steve’s name tattooed. Thumbs teased at his nipples, and Tony shuddered, had to reach an arm up behind himself to hold onto the back of Steve’s head, the other sliding across Steve’s slippery skin until he had a handful of ass.

Steve hummed his approval, and _thrust_ , stiff cock sliding hotly across Tony’s asshole—as much a tease as anything else—before nudging Tony’s balls. With a groan, Tony reached back to spread himself wider, eyes fluttering closed when Steve repeated the process more forcefully.

“Kiss me,” Steve said, and although the angle was a bit awkward, Tony turned his head and did just that. Holding on for dear life, Tony used his grip on Steve’s hair to keep their mouths smashed together. The kiss was sloppy, and perfect, and seemed to go on forever, Steve watching him with an intensity that bordered on being predatory. And through it all, he stroked and teased Tony’s chest, his nipples, his abdomen, his thighs, touching everywhere except Tony’s aching cock.

“Please,” Tony whimpered, undulating against Steve.

Fingers plucked at one of his nipples, while Steve sucked on Tony’s earlobe. “Please _what_?”

“Please touch my dick,” Tony clarified in a rush, tugging on Steve’s hair. Another of those sloppy kisses stole Tony’s breath away before he felt strong, slick fingers glide up along the underside of his cock, thumb brushing across the head for a fleeting moment before retreating. “Tease,” he growled.

“I seem to recall you and Bruce discussing the importance of specificity on more than one occasion,” Steve said, sucking noisily at Tony’s shoulder.

“I _do_ love specificity,” Tony sighed. “Okay. Please wrap one or both of your beautiful hands around my dick, and stroke me. Firmly.”

Suddenly there was a slick hand tugging on his cock, and Tony all but melted in Steve’s arms, moaning his happiness while Steve laughed in his ear. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Tony tipped his head forward so he could watch Steve’s hand _slowly_ working it’s way up and down the length of him, firm and purposeful, making Tony’s hips jerk while he whimpered his approval. Of course, as soon as he attempted to legitimately thrust into Steve’s fist, Steve let go, because obviously he was some sort of evil, magnificent sex-monster. “Not fair!”

Steve chuckled, and gave him a little slap on the thigh. “I thought we were supposed to be getting you clean?”

“So squirt some soap in your hand,” Tony suggested, then forgot why he was complaining when strong fingers massaged shampoo into his hair, fingertips wriggling against his scalp, and making him feel weak in the knees. “Ignore my previous whining.”

Tony hummed contentedly as Steve washed his hair for him, eyes closing as he was positioned beneath the shower-head to rinse the suds away. When he blinked his eyes open again, Steve was working soap into a loofah, and smiling.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve sighed.

Tony wanted to argue, because between the two of them, Steve was the one who looked like he’d been carved from marble. Only, it was clear Steve very much liked what he saw, and since Tony enjoyed being admired, he preened a little before slicking his hair back, and crooking a finger at Steve. Moments later, he had Steve’s slippery skin against his own again, a soapy loofah gliding down his back, and over the swell of his ass while Steve kissed him roughly.

Soapy fingers spread Tony wide, teasing, fleeting moments of contact setting his nerves on edge. The loofah roamed, scrubbing away, Steve sinking to one knee so he could properly wash Tony's legs, and each foot before he worked a soapy fist over Tony's dick, only stopping when Tony’s thighs trembling. Steve smiled up at him sweetly, eyelashes clumped together, those baby blues of his sparkling, and Tony had another of those, “Is this really my life?” moments.

Since he was a horrible, wonderful tease, Steve sucked along the insides of Tony's thighs, then moved on to his balls, so that Tony had to grab hold of Steve's broad shoulders in order to stay upright. The soap had been abandoned at some point, which was fine by Tony. Steve's mouth was way more fun, especially since he'd moved onto playfully licking and sucking his way up the length of Tony's cock.

Heart hammering fitfully in his chest, Tony pushed Steve’s wet hair back from his forehead, before rubbing himself experimentally against Steve’s beautiful, clean shaven face. Not surprisingly, this made Steve smile, and he nuzzled closer, eyelids drooping only to snap back open at the first push of Tony’s cock against his lips.

Tony wasn’t sure which one of them groaned louder. It might have actually been Steve, as he wrapped his lips around the head of Tony’s cock, then sucked him down in one swift, obscene move, not stopping until his nose was nestled against the neatly trimmed curls of Tony’s pubic hair.

“Fucking _fuck_ , Steve!”

With a gasp, Steve slurped his way off of Tony’s dick, face flushed bright pink. “Very articulate,” he rasped before getting back to it.

Large hands cupped Tony’s ass, either for groping purposes, or to help keep him on his feet while Steve went down on him like he was trying for the gold medal in cocksucking. The sounds being made were _especially_ pornographic, and reverberating through the room rather magnificently thanks to the top notch acoustics of the bathroom.

Right when Tony reached the point where he was both questioning how long Steve could go without breathing, and how much more he could handle before coming, Steve stopped.

“Sorry, kinda got lost in the zone there,” Steve croaked, resting his forehead against Tony’s hip while he caught his breath. “Turn around?” Tony was only too happy to oblige. “Have I told you how gorgeous your ass is?”

“Maybe. Once or twice.” Tony shifted his hips and smiled to himself as Steve's large hands roamed possessively across his skin, as if trying to memorize the size and shape of his so-called gorgeous ass. Steve pressed a kiss against each cheek in turn, then followed it up with a little smack, prompting Tony to yelp, his dick jumping in appreciation. “I could always have your name tattooed back there?”

“Mm, no,” Steve said, still squeezing and stroking. “You don't mess with perfection.”

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but the words were lost to a loud, throaty moan when Steve spread him wide, lapping enthusiastically. Long, wonderful strokes of tongue laved the underside of Tony's balls before working up to his asshole. Once he’d reached his destination, Steve moaned in a hot rush, tongue fluttering against Tony’s hole before he switched to long, lovely strokes of tongue.

Bracing his hands against the wall seemed advisable, since Tony didn't want to do something stupid, like break his nose by falling in the shower while his boyfriend was tongue-fucking his ass. Mostly because that would mean they’d need to stop and go to the hospital. Even if a broken nose was a small price to pay for the sort of enthusiasm Steve was showing.

“Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve sounded thoroughly preoccupied, had nestled himself between Tony's asscheeks, seemingly content to stay right where he was.

“If, ah, _oh fuck_ , if we… In the bedroom?” Tony gasped, and almost lost his footing. “Move there, I mean. I could… could be sucking your dick while you're doing this.”

Just like that, Steve's tongue was gone. “Sure you're clean enough?”

“Very sure.” As if to prove his point, Tony turned off the water. “Besides, I'm starting to prune, and your knees have got to be killing you at this point.”

Tony had a towel waiting for Steve when he exited the shower, opting to dry himself off on the way into the bedroom, before they got distracted again. Steve was happy to follow, and even happier to let Tony manhandle him onto the bed.

Moving as quickly as possible, Tony grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand, tossed it to Steve, and then crawled on top of him. “Scooch back a bit,” Steve suggested. Apparently Tony wasn't moving fast enough, because Steve snagged him around the waist, and dragged Tony closer. “Mm, perfect.”

Which, _yeah_ , was hard to argue with when Steve picked up where he'd left off, tongue thrusting insistently against that tight ring of muscle. Tony moaned his approval, shifted around until he was more comfortable, and then helped himself to a mouthful of Steve. The feedback loop of pleasure was almost too good, left Tony feeling slightly dazed, and unsure of where he wanted the most stimulation. Should he focus his attention on the big, beautiful cock in his mouth? Steve's tongue in his ass? The sensation of his own dick rubbing against Steve? Or maybe the sounds, or smells, or the feeling of skin on skin, the worshipful slide of Steve’s hands as he held onto Tony as if he was precious.

Tony cycled through focusing on them one at a time as best he could before dragging his mouth off of Steve in order to squirm and pant and beg. “Gimme two fingers. Yeah, oh, _just like that_ , fuck, Steve.”

“I can't wait to slide my cock inside of you,” Steve growled, slippery fingers twisting, making Tony jerk and whine with pleasure.

“Me too.”

Idly wondering if it was possible for someone to lose their mind from overstimulation, Tony thrust backward onto Steve’s fingers wantonly, the edge of pain already a thing of the past, the desire to be filled taking over. He wanted _so much more_ than fingers, was desperate enough to feel guilty. It seemed borderline disrespectful, especially considering how determined Steve had been to make sure Tony's libido was taken care of while dealing with the side effects of his antidepressants.

Right or wrong, Tony couldn't pretend he wasn't thrilled over Steve's dick working again. He loved sex, loved Steve, and loved having things feeling more balanced between them in the bedroom. And whatever, he loved Steve's dick, too, had more or less fallen head over heels the first time he'd gotten a look at what Steve was packing, so what was the point in pretending otherwise? He would have loved Steve just as much if he was smaller, so there was no point in beating himself up over being happy he’d won the Big Dick Lottery.

The only potential downside was how much time Steve was going to want to take while opening Tony up. Steve wouldn’t stop until he was positive Tony was loose, and pliant, and ready to accommodate the intrusion. Tony was the one always trying to rush the prep, desperation or impatience getting the best of him, which was kind of ridiculous considering all the lecturing he'd done the first time Steve had bottomed.

“Up,” Steve requested, rolling Tony onto his back once he complied. Steve was all pink in the face, and smiling. “Sorry, you started rubbing against the tattoo.”

“Shit, do you need to—”

Steve kissed him quiet, pulled Tony into his arms, hooking one of Tony's legs up so as to give himself room to continue his work. Then those fingers were back, slippery and determined, so Tony could only shudder with pleasure.

“It's fine,” Steve said, kissing Tony again. “Besides, this way I can see your face.”

Resting his forehead against Steve's, Tony tried to channel his inner Zen master, willing himself to relax, and let go of the urgency. Steve's erection wasn't going anywhere, and they had nothing else to worry about that evening, so it was stupid not to let himself be in the moment, just give in to the fun parts of anticipation.

“I'm really digging the way you're looking at me right now,” Tony sighed.

“Guess I’m still mooning, huh?” Carefully, Steve worked a third finger into play, the burn and sting of it all a surprisingly welcome counterpoint to the arousal pounding through Tony's body. “I must be in love with you or something.”

Tony laughed, not sure what else to do with the overload of happiness. “I know you are,” he rasped, tightening his grip on Steve. Tony couldn't help but think of that first love confession again, of Steve's readiness to blame himself for all of Tony's doubts and fears. Of the determination he'd shown for finding some way to get it right at last, and the desperation for a chance to do better. “I feel how much you love me every single day, Steve,” Tony promised.

Steve smiled the sweetest, shyest smile, and Tony was thrilled to see the pride there in his eyes. “Do _you_?” Tony asked, breathlessly. “Can you feel how much I love you? How proud I am of you? I'm so lucky to have met you, Steve—”

Their mouths crashed together again, Steve's breathing ragged now, eyes bright and wet. Urgency was hammering in Tony’s chest, leaving him desperate to find some way to get _closer_ , because even tangled together the way they were, it wasn't enough, not even close. Not with Steve whimpering Tony's name over and over again as they kissed, something broken and ravenous there in his eyes.

“ _Please_.” Tony wailed with pleasure as Steve's fingers curled, and stroked against his prostate, holding onto Steve as if scared someone might try to tear them apart. “I'm good, I'm so good, please Steve, I need you inside me, _now_.”

“Are you sure?”

Tony squirmed, trying to take Steve's fingers deeper. “Yeah, yes, never surer. Roll onto your back, let me take you slow, and I'll be fine. Promise.”

Steve kissed him again, carefully removing his fingers from Tony's ass before he rolled onto his back, and lunged for the lube. Tony held out his hand, happy that Steve gave him a squirt without argument, and then amused himself with getting Steve's cock nice and slick, lost to the love and hunger in Steve's eyes.

Entire body thrumming with anticipation, Tony positioned himself above Steve, the two of them holding onto his cock together to line it up, one of Steve's hands braced beneath Tony's thigh to offer extra support. Steve’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his beautiful blue eyes dark with desire, as Tony _slowly_  descended, his entire body going absolutely haywire at the brush of Steve’s cock against his entrance. He wanted everything at once, but Steve was trusting Tony not to hurt himself, so he fought against every last one of his instincts, let Steve help support his weight, as he started to work his way down, down, down.

A filthy, ecstatic moan of pleasure was torn from Steve as the head of his cock breached Tony’s body, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head, mouth falling open in pleasure. “Oh _fuck_ ,” he gasped. As Tony shifted and sank a little lower, Steve’s eyes finally appeared to regain the ability to focus, although he couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to watch his cock being sheathed in Tony’s ass, or to gaze up into Tony’s eyes adoringly.

“Feel good?” Tony asked, voice a low, raspy growl.

Steve laughed, sounding a bit unhinged. “You feel beyond good,” he managed after a moment, shuddering as Tony sank deeper. “Tony, you, ah, you’re _perfect_. _Tight_ and slick and _hot_.”

“S’different without the condom, huh?”

Nodding frantically, Steve bit down into his lower lip, and made another of those wonderful, broken sounds of pleasure, his entire body heaving. Tony shifted, moved his hands, bracing himself against Steve’s chest, his thighs trembling dangerously. But Steve kept him steady, kept it all slow, whispering words of encouragement. “Almost there, Tony, so close, _fuck_ , just like that, _oh_ , love you,” and on and on until Tony had managed to take every last inch of Steve.

And then he was _there_ , filled to the point of breaking, his entire body thrumming as pleasure warred with discomfort, feeling like he wanted to whoop victoriously, or maybe bawl his eyes out in relief. Steve shifted, raising himself up enough to wrap his arms around Tony, to hold him tight, stroke his back, his thighs, kissing every bit of him he could reach, an onslaught of comfort that was precisely what Tony had needed. Tony held on for dear life, until their breathing synced up, the pain fading into the background, replaced by the overwhelming need to move, to shift, to bring on the pleasure he knew was waiting.

Slow, slow, _slow_ , with Steve reaching between their bodies to add more lube, until movement became everything, the stretch and burn and the sensation of being filled driving Tony perfectly crazy. “You’re so _deep_ ,” he groaned, watching the effect those words had on Steve.

Large hands grabbed hold of Tony’s hips, guiding his movements for a moment, Steve’s head tipping back in pleasure as he grinned wildly. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Tony worked his hips properly, erection making a comeback in a big way as he rode Steve’s dick, feeling drunk on sensation, powerful, worshipped. The dog tags jingled and jangled loudly, and that was good, too, everything getting even better when Steve stroked his cock, and played with his nipples.

The world fell away, so that for hours or minutes or centuries, that was Tony’s entire existence—holding onto Steve, rocking himself to madness on his cock, while thrusting into the tight slickness of Steve’s hand—until it was too much, and not enough.

“Oh, fuck, _stop_ , you’re gonna make me come.”

A hand curled around the back of Tony’s neck, pulling him down, and then they were kissing again, frantic and sublime. Steve shifted, digging his heels into the bed to get better leverage, then thrust up into Tony’s ass. They cried out in unison, chests heaving, Tony _shaking_ with his pleasure.

“Let me,” Steve gasped, an offer and a question rolled into one.

Tony nodded his consent, hissing with displeasure as Steve pulled out, but it was only a temporary discomfort. Eagerly, he scrambled onto his hands and knees, grinning over his shoulder. Steve smiled back wolfishly, working more lube onto his dick before leaning over and kissing Tony’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Steve slowly dragged the length of his cock against Tony’s rim, teasing him with the head, but never quite thrusting, a maddening game of keep away. “Sure you don’t want a break?” he asked innocently, stroking along Tony’s flank. “I know how much you like it when I have you bent over like this. Wouldn’t want to make you come too soon.”

Mouth falling open, Tony glared over his shoulder, unsurprised to find Steve already laughing at him, the fucking troll. “I swear to Asimov, Rogers, if you don’t—oh, _fuck_ , yes!”

Glorious pressure returned, Steve taking his time working his way back into Tony’s body, a slow, exhilarating penetration that had Tony arching his back, and cursing under his breath. Steve kept both hands tight on his hips, meaning Tony had to take everything at Steve’s pace, couldn’t thrust himself backwards to speed things up. Which, yeah, was actually sort of perfect, really, because it meant he felt every last thick, glorious inch of Steve filling him up, until his balls were flush with Tony’s ass.

One arm braced against the bed, Steve wrapped the other around Tony’s waist, holding him tight as he kissed his way along Tony’s shoulder, and over to his ear. “What was that?” Steve asked, sucking on Tony’s earlobe.

“Nothing,” he sighed, turning his head. “Not a single, goddamned thing.”

Steve rocked his hips, hardly moving at all, just enough of a strategic shift and slide to ensure he rubbed relentlessly against Tony’s prostate. Steve squeezed tighter, leaning back enough for Tony to barely be able to brace himself on the mattress, to the extent that he felt almost suspended in thin air. Steve adjusted his grip so that he could stroke a palm across Tony’s chest, his abdomen, pinch his nipples, brush teasingly against his cock, keeping up those endless, wicked thrusts the entire time. Absolute _tremors_ of pleasure were running riot with Tony’s body, leaving his mind stranded, all thoughts falling into a disjointed, unimportant jumble. Really, the only thing he seemed capable of any longer was moaning, so Tony opted to do that continually.

“I love having nothing between us,” Steve huffed into Tony’s ear. “I can feel so much more of you now. Can you feel _me_ , Tony?”

Groaning wantonly, Tony let his head loll on his shoulders, managed a slurred, “Yes.”

With a sigh of ecstasy, Tony folded forward, the support of Steve’s arms slipping away, so that he could press the side of his face into the mattress, his ass still up in the air. Steve dragged his hands down Tony’s back, along his shoulders, massaging muscles as he went, repositioning him slightly, before brushing Tony’s damp hair away from his brow. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open, but Tony did, twisting enough to look over his shoulder, where Steve was watching him with heavy lidded eyes.

“Want to feel more of you,” Tony said, watching the rapid rise and fall of Steve’s chest. He was flushed everywhere, hair sticking up in spots, pupils blown, already covered in a sheen of sweat. Tease or not, Tony could feel how hard Steve was, feel his body vibrating from showing so much restraint.

Grabbing hold of Tony’s hips, Steve pulled free just enough to be able to slam back home again, so that Tony could only giggle his approval. The sound degraded quickly into little staccato moans of pleasure issued in time with Steve’s thrusts, until he was grabbing fistfuls of the sheets, and probably drooling a little. Not that Tony could be bothered to care. All that mattered was the sensation of Steve stretching him wide, rocking into him, those shifting, almost unpredictable thrusts that had Tony’s balls feeling heavy, and his cock already dribbling precome.

Tony was babbling—something involving a lot of _yeahs_ , and Steve’s name—squeezing down around Steve’s cock, and slamming his hips back to meet each thrust, until he wasn’t the only one crying out loudly with pleasure. “ _Fuck_ , Tony.” Steve growled, grabbing hold of his shoulder, and pressing down on his lower back to change the angle of his hips. He picked up the pace, pounding into Tony hard. “Look at you. _Beautiful_. The way... _ah_ , the way you take me?”

He tried to answer, to tell Steve how much he loved getting fucked by him, but all Tony could manage was disjointed profanity, and hiccuping breaths, which as far as he was concerned, went rather nicely with the sound of their bodies crashing together. Steve was breathing loudly, arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s waist again, forehead pressed between Tony’s shoulder blades as he worked them both into a frenzy.

“Wanna see your face when I come,” Tony panted.

Just like that, Steve was untangling them, sliding himself free, so that Tony was desperately clamping down on thin air. The emptiness was _awful_ , the lack of Steve’s body pressing against his own was like the end of the world. Tony was pretty sure he’d start crying if Steve didn’t—

“I’ve got you,” Steve swore, and Tony realized some version of what he’d been thinking must have been said out loud.

In an instant, he was rolled onto his back, Steve sinking back inside of him with one wonderfully enthusiastic thrust. Lips dragged against his own, a hungry, desperate kiss that left Tony grinning ear to ear. _This_ was what he had been dying for ever since Steve had started the antidepressants, the side of Steve that no one else got to experience, a perfect combination of vulnerability, strength, and determination on display as he fucked Tony in earnest. Deep, and hard, knocking the breath out of him, so that Tony could go boneless against the bed, confident Steve wouldn’t hurt him, would keep him carefully poised along that edge between too much and not enough.

Because somehow, Steve always knew when to slow down, when to go fast and hard, when to bend Tony’s knees up by his ears, and kiss him breathless. Maybe it was his military training at work? Steve was beautifully intense in bed, always watching and anticipating. The end result was tender touches precisely when Tony needed them, or a hand on his dick, or Steve’s mouth sucking hungrily at his neck.

Part of it was likely due to the simple fact that Steve had never done this with anyone other than Tony. Steve knew what _he_ liked when Tony was inside of him, of course, but he was also observant, and determined, and very much interested in making Tony’s toes curl with pleasure, so he’d taken it on as his own personal mission to become an expert in fucking Tony Stark. It was probably wrong of Tony to be so pleased that no one else had ever had the opportunity to come with Steve’s cock buried inside of them, but whatever. It was impossible to pretend he didn’t find that incredibly, mind-meltingly hot, so Tony wasn’t even going to bother trying.

Steve’s hands slipped beneath Tony’s body, lifting his hips up and off of the mattress, changing the angle, immediately working Tony into an even worse frenzy. He grabbed hold of Steve’s forearms, held on tight, chanting breathless encouragement, captivated by the look in Steve’s eyes, and the still unfamiliar sight of his own name tattooed on his chest.

“Tony,” Steve moaned, and in an instant it became obvious how _desperately_ Steve was holding on, wanting Tony to get there ahead of him, because he was a stubborn bastard that way.

“Go on, you first, sweetheart.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Steve countered, grinning down at him. He shifted again, wrapped a hand around Tony’s cock, and any protests Tony had planned on making were immediately forgotten. “Wanna be inside you when you come.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s do that,” Tony gasped, and then promptly forgot how to use words. Instead, he moaned, and writhed, and dug his heels into Steve, pistoning his hips, until one or the other of them was chanting, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” over and over again.

Entire body tensing, Tony held his breath, whimpered, and stared up at Steve in adoration as finally, wonderfully, _blissfully_ , he was pushed over the edge. Steve never stopped moving, that thick cock of his nailing Tony’s prostate over and over and _over_ again, eyes wide as he milked Tony through his orgasm, and watched Tony cover himself with semen. He hadn’t expected quite so much, really, not after round one in the kitchen, but Tony wasn’t about to complain. There were tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he shook, and wailed his pleasure, streaking his chest and stomach and sternum with come, the rest dribbling down over Steve’s fingers.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve growled. “Love making you come around my dick.”

Steve swore under his breath as he sucked his fingers clean. His expression was stranded somewhere between absolute smugness and sublime appreciation, and it was strange how—as his body slowly returned to a more normal state of affairs—Tony suddenly found himself realizing he was _never_ going to have sex with anyone other than Steve ever again.

For some reason, it had never crossed his mind until that very moment. Once upon a time, the idea of Tony Stark settling down might have seemed laughable, but that was only because most people didn’t know the real him. He was a commitment kind of guy, always had been. The problem was, you could only have your heart broken so many times before you got to thinking maybe one night stands were the better option. Until Steve, Tony had never been in a relationship he actually expected or believed would last, so he wasn’t sure if it was normal to feel so _excited_ about that kind of revelation. Steve was it for him, and he was it for Steve, which made Tony happy in a kind of over the moon, lovesick, stupidly possessive sort of way he refused to feel guilty about.

Smiling goofily, Tony grabbed hold of Steve, and yanked him down into the mess, kissing him hard, and insistent, before wrapping him up tight with his arms and legs. “Gonna need another shower,” Steve gasped.

“Worth it.” Winding his fingers through Steve’s sweat soaked hair, Tony kissed him again, and again, then dragged his lips over to Steve’s ear. “C’mon, your turn, fill me up, sweetheart.”

Steve shuddered at the words, groaning piteously before extracting himself from Tony's death grip. It felt like a lifetime, but was likely only another minute or two, Steve grabbing hold of Tony’s ankles, spreading him wide and pistoning away. Tony _squeezed_ around Steve’s cock, watching his mouth go slack with pleasure, eyes glassy, muscles taut.

“Fuck, yeah, _Steve_ , come for me, yeah,” Tony chanted, moaning in sympathy when he felt Steve begin to stiffen tellingly.

Throwing his head back in pleasure, Steve’s hips jerked spasmodically, but then he was blinking his eyes open again, attention entirely focused on where he was sliding in and out of Tony’s ass, his rhythm faltering, cock slipping free momentarily due to the extra lubrication of his release. “That’s so hot,” Steve gasped, quickly pushing his way back inside, fingers reaching down to play with the come already leaking out of Tony’s ass.

“That’s my pervert,” Tony sighed, patting Steve’s back and laughing.

Tony tried to catch his breath, a little preoccupied with what was happening between his legs. Steve kept spasming inside of him, still stretching him wide, everything slick to the point of distraction. With a grunt, he settled on top of Tony, shaking, and laughing, hips still jerking as he tried to keep from squashing Tony.

“Holy shit, Steve.”

With what seemed to be a Herculean effort, Steve carefully slipped free of Tony's body, and flopped onto the bed beside him, looking dazed and incredibly pleased with himself. Tony poked him in the side, grinned stupidly, said, “You think you're _so_ cool, don’t you?”

That was enough to send Steve off in a fit of laughter. Tony couldn’t look away, heart feeling full to bursting. Snorting, Steve shook his head back and forth, and pulled Tony into his arms, sighing contentedly. “Don’t know about cool, but I’m definitely lucky.”

They exchanged slow, tender kisses, until Tony thought he might drift away in Steve’s arms, every muscle in his body feeling loose, and relaxed. Steve had tugged one of Tony’s thighs up over him, so he could stroke, and pet, and maybe also slide his fingers into the mess he’d left behind.

“Quick rinse in the shower, or do you want delivery?”

“Delivery,” Tony murmured, burrowing against Steve’s chest.

A kiss was pressed to the top of his head, and after a struggle, Steve finally managed to worm his way free, returning after what felt like an eternity with a warm washcloth. Tony was moved this way and that as Steve cleaned him up, captivated by the tender look in Steve’s eyes as he did so. “I missed being able to share that with you,” he said, catching Tony watching.

“Me too, sweetheart. Get back in bed so I can fall asleep on you.”

“Yes, sir.”

A wide, breathtaking smile transformed Steve’s face, his eyes suspiciously bright, but he crawled into the bed, dragging Tony under the covers, and pulling him close. Strong arms wrapped around him, and then the world was nothing but warmth, the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest, the beating of his heart, and the hands stroking Tony lovingly.

“Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m actually going to be okay, aren't I?” Steve sounded equal parts scared and amazed and disbelieving, his grip on Tony tightening.

With an effort, Tony propped himself upright, so he could look into Steve's eyes. “Absolutely, Steve,” he promised, stroking Steve's cheek. “You are. So am I. It'll still suck some days, and maybe we'll take a step or two backwards, but that's okay. We’ve got each other, so we’ll get through anything.”

“Scared together,” Steve said, but as far as Tony was concerned, it sounded a lot like _I love you_.

“Love you, too.”

Steve pulled him down into another kiss, then stroked Tony's hair, and sighed. “Thank you.”

“Pretty sure I should be thanking you,” Tony said. He traced the perimeter of the tattoo, avoiding the bits that were glossy and sticky with vitamin E salve.

“For hanging in there,” Steve clarified. Tony listened to him swallow wetly, chest aching when Steve added, “For believing I was worth the trouble.”

“Hey. I wouldn't change anything,” Tony swore. He found Steve's hand, twined their fingers together. “We're here now, taking care of ourselves and each other. It's… I don't know if you realize how lonely I was before you came along. I don't think I even realized how much of myself I'd put on a shelf, figuring I didn't need it anymore. And now I have you, and Peter, and I—we—have a future to build. Together.”

Warm lips dragged against Tony's temple, and it was a relief that he could feel the curve of Steve’s smile. “Together.”

Tony smiled in return, eyes too heavy to keep open any longer, and drifted away to thoughts of together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter was long. I hope everyone survived? *cough* I think Tony liked the tattoo. Steve also might really, REALLY like the idea of Tony having one, as well, but... maybe we'll wait on that a bit, Tony. Hold onto the dog tags for now, my friend. 
> 
> Oh, look, Pepper and Rhodey took a moment and thought things through, and brought their apology game to the party. There is a lot of love. These dorks need to learn to recognize they're all adults now. And... more hugging. Yes. Let's get Peter in on the hugging, too.
> 
> The rest of my thoughts are mostly, "WEwrlerlweh kjshjhsdkjshdfjhfskjhf CIVIL WAR!!!!!" I have feelings. FREIGHT CAR!!!?!?!?!?! JFC, guys. By all means, attack me with your own over on tumblr. ;D @finely-honed and/or @dezinformatsia


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares are better when you can talk through them with the person you love. The same could be said about the future.

Steve woke with a start, sucking in a mouthful of air and blinking rapidly, trying to get a handle on his surroundings. One breath, two, Steve focused on keeping everything slow and steady as he tried to shake himself free of the dream, of the sensation of slipping beneath cold, acrid water. It took a moment to realize he’d reached for Tony, only to find the other half of the bed empty. The sheets were still warm, though, so he couldn’t have been alone for long.

With his heart still racing, Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed, and braced his elbows on his knees for the space of several breaths, halfheartedly hoping Tony had simply gotten up to use the bathroom, and was about to make a reappearance. When it didn’t happen, Steve rose to his feet, and crept out of the bedroom, still feeling raw, and on edge, more so over Tony’s absence than the nightmare.

The apartment was dark and quiet, but Peter’s bedroom door was open a crack. Steve’s heart lurched, and he picked up the pace, worried Peter had had another nightmare, and that he’d managed to sleep through it somehow. Only, Peter was blissfully unaware, sprawled across his bed, mouth hanging open as he breathed softly. Steve took a step closer, heart seizing up with love as he watched his son sleep, the residual tension from his bad dream easing out of his body.

It wasn’t until he turned to leave that Steve finally spotted Tony, standing in the dark just behind the door, arms wrapped tightly around himself, staring at Peter. Steve jumped in surprise, whispered, “Everything okay?” as he curled a hand around Tony’s elbow.

Tony nodded, the movement jerky, one hand darting up to push the tears off of his face before he shrugged a shoulder, and shook his head in the negative. As quietly as possible, Steve pulled Tony away from the wall, and into his arms. Once Tony was there, Steve could feel him trembling, so he stroked along his back, made soft, soothing noises, and rocked him gently.

“Bad dreams?” Steve asked the question against Tony’s ear, eyes on Peter’s sleeping form. Tony nodded again, another shudder running through his body, prompting Steve to hold him tighter. “Come on.”

For a moment, he thought Tony wasn’t going to budge, but then he loosened his grip on Steve, and scrubbed a hand over his face, let himself be led out of Peter’s bedroom. Steve kept holding on as he carefully pulled Peter’s door closed, and headed for the kitchen. Once the light was flipped on, Tony let go of Steve’s hand, and rubbed at his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Both hands covering his face, Tony groaned quietly as he wiped away any remaining tears. “Did I wake you up?”

“I don’t think so,” Steve answered. Tony finally met his eyes, a question there. “I’m not sure when you got out of bed, but either way, I was having my own nightmare, so…”

“Seems to be the night for it,” Tony said, a smile there and gone again on his face. “What, ah, what were you dreaming about?”

Chest feeling tight, Steve forced himself to exhale steadily. The flooding room had never been real, only a painstakingly crafted chamber of torture he’d built in his imagination. “Drowning.” He opened the fridge, and pulled out a plate of leftovers. Once the door was no longer blocking his field of vision, Steve realized Tony was watching him sympathetically. “Well, getting close to drowning. There was a tiny pocket of air at the top of the room, but I was too exhausted to stay afloat, and kept slipping back under the water.”

Tony made a soft, introspective noise, pulled out a chair for Steve and took a seat himself at the kitchen table, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “You’d think IEDs would make an appearance, what with all the fireworks,” Tony shook his head sharply, wincing. “Damn, sorry, that’s—”

“No, it’s fine. I was expecting the same thing.” Steve set the plate down and gave Tony’s shoulder a squeeze before going to grab a couple of forks. “I guess my mind wanted to surprise me.”

“Pretty shitty birthday surprise, if you ask me.”

Steve glanced at the clock. “It’s officially no longer my birthday. Besides, it’s been awhile since I’ve even thought of the room.”

Which, thankfully, was true. It made an appearance in his dreams from time to time, but the place was slowly losing its power over Steve. Not actively dedicating brainpower to obsessively envisioning himself trapped in flooded chamber of tortures had been a good start, and explaining things to Dr. Coulson had been even better, but Steve credited Tony for his progress on that front.

Not only had Tony been willing to listen to all the gory details, he’d also asked if Steve would be comfortable sketching the room for him, specifically requesting a version with the glass shattered, and Steve standing outside on solid ground.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder with Tony as he studied the drawing, Steve had reveled in the knowledge that the chamber was his past, and the only one capable of rebuilding it—of putting the room to use again—was Steve Rogers. That he had, in fact, been torturing and observing _himself_ for all of those years, a twisted penance for his supposed crimes and failures.

“Hey, progress,” Tony said softly, dragging Steve from his thoughts. He kept his eyes lowered, watching as Steve carefully unwrapped the plate, revealing two slices of leftover birthday cake. “Someone's going to cry if we eat both of these.”

“Peter’s portion is wrapped separately,” Steve said with a smile. He shifted his chair a bit closer to Tony’s and sat down, stroking Tony’s back while helping himself to a forkful of cake. “Want to tell me what your dream was about?”

Tony tensed beneath his hand, ducking his chin before turning away, as if he was feeling ashamed, and wanted to hide. Steve’s stomach fluttered in sympathy as Tony’s mouth opened and closed several times before he shook his head again, and laughed. It was mirthless, and sounded too much like a whimper for Steve’s liking.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” Steve said, gently squeezing the back of Tony’s neck. “I’m going to stay right here with you, either way. Just tell me what you need.”

After taking a deep breath, Tony shifted in his seat, carefully shrugging off Steve’s touch in the process, and stabbed at the cake with his fork, mouth twisted to one side. Steve didn't reach for him again, simply stayed close, and tried to project supportiveness and patience as he ate.

“Using my tricks against me, huh?”

“Hey, I learned from the best,” Steve said. “You’ve gotten me through my fair share of rough nights.”

It was quiet, save for their breathing, but after a couple minutes of silence, Tony somewhat angrily shoveled some cake into his mouth, before setting down his fork. He picked it up again almost immediately, long fingers toying with the utensil as if testing the balance, obviously needing some sort of distraction.

Steve was the same way when upset, which was part of the appeal of drawing, or making lists. Not only was he keeping himself busy, he was also breaking his problems down into smaller component parts, making them seem easier to tackle. Knowing Tony as he did, Steve wished they were at the Tower, so Tony could have access to his shop; he'd probably be more comfortable discussing his nightmare while working.

“What if,” Tony drawled, spinning the fork around his fingers, “what I _need_ is a drink?”

The words hit Steve hard in the chest, seemed to hang in the air around them, leaving him momentarily unsure of how to proceed. Tony was watching him, obviously waiting for a response, mouth trembling.

“Scotch, preferably, if you have it. Older the better. I’m a big fan of that smooth burn on the way down. And hey, we both know I’ll need more than one, so feel free to leave the whole bottle.” Tony tapped the tines of his fork against the plate, and looked at Steve pointedly, as if daring him to argue.

Not breaking eye contact, Steve slowly shifted out of Tony’s personal space, placing both hands on the table where they could be seen, feeling hyper aware of his size all the while. Steve swallowed, nervous and uncomfortable, but still didn’t look away. “That’s not what you need,” he said softly. “It isn’t even what you _want_ , Tony.”

“Really. What makes you so sure?”

Maybe Tony had intended the words to serve as a challenge, but to Steve’s ears it sounded more like a plea than anything else. Tony couldn’t maintain eye contact, had his shoulders hunched while he toyed with the fork, a fat tear sliding down one cheek. Beneath it all, Steve could see how desperate Tony was to believe what he was being told.

“Because I _know_ you, Tony,” Steve answered calmly. “I’ve been with you before when you thought you needed a drink, and this isn’t that.” He turned one of his palms upward, shifted it closer to Tony, but made no move to touch him. Steve trusted him to accept the offered comfort if it was something he needed, or wanted. “Does this have something to do with Howard?” Another of those wet, broken sounding laughs, and then Tony’s hand was reaching for Steve’s, holding on tight. “Was it only a dream, or a memory?”

“Both,” Tony managed, a sob caught somewhere behind his teeth. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then tilted his chin up defiantly. “More like a _recast_ memory,” he explained, and Steve didn’t need the rest of the sentence to understand why Tony was so shaken. “I should be thanking the Academy, really. Playing Howard Stark is the role of a lifetime, right?” Tony paused, cleared his throat, “Peter’s the one…”

Tony’s fingers tightened around Steve’s almost to the point of pain, his face twisting up in shame and misery before he hid it behind his hand.

“Peter’s okay,” Steve said soothingly, wanting to pull Tony into his arms, but worried it would be too much for him. “He’s safe in bed. You’re safe, too. I won’t let anyone hurt either of you.”

Eyelashes clumped with tears, Tony stared at Steve. “It was _worse_ ,” he blurted, face constricted with pain. “Worse than living through it the first time. I _hurt_ him, Steve.”

“No, you didn’t,” Steve swore. “You’ve never hurt Peter, Tony, and you never will.”

“Easy for you to say. I can still see his face,” Tony snapped, gesturing to his head before covering his mouth with his hand. “Hear him crying, and… and promising to be good. I _felt Peter’s arm break_ , Steve, but I wouldn’t let go. Couldn’t. I was stuck letting things play out, same as the first time around. _Fuck_. The look in his eyes? He was scared, and confused; he didn’t even know what he did wrong! How the hell could I—”

“Tony, that was _Howard_ ,” Steve insisted calmly, “not you.” Tony sucked air in through his teeth, and nodded, his entire body trembling. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not then, and certainly not now.”

Steve’s stomach was in knots, and he couldn’t stop thinking of the old photographs he’d seen, way back when Tony had asked him to consider whether or not he wanted their relationship to continue. There was a snapshot burned into his memory of a much smaller Tony Stark hovering at the edge of his father’s workshop, decked out in his little lab coat, small, and alone, and desperately looking to his father for some sign of approval. Tony had seemed so lost in that world, and it broke Steve’s heart knowing that no one had come to his rescue.

“I wish I could go back in time, and take you out of that house before anyone ever hurt you,” Steve said softly. “I also wish you’d had a father, instead of whatever the fuck Howard Stark was.” With a sigh, Steve rubbed his thumb across the back of Tony’s hand. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”

Exhaling shakily, Tony answered by scrambling out of his seat so quickly that Steve almost didn’t catch him when he pitched forward. But then Tony was in his arms, shaking, and Steve held him tight, carried Tony over to the couch, and curled around him protectively.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Tony,” Steve whispered into Tony’s hair, stroking his back, and thinking of that little boy. Thinking of Peter. “ _None_ of that was your fault, baby. You were just a little kid. Smart as hell, but still only a kid.”

“I know,” Tony whimpered. “I know. I _know_ that.” Tony took another shuddering breath. “ _Steve_. The thought that… that I could hurt—”

“Never.” Steve stroked Tony’s hair, held on tighter when Tony trembled again, relieved when this made the body in his arms relax, rather than tense up. “Not even if you had that drink, Tony. Not even if you drank the entire bottle. Not on your worst day. _Never_.”

A small, awful sound escaped, Tony burrowing closer, leaving Steve’s skin damp with tears. “You don’t know that,” he whimpered, almost too quiet to hear.

“Yes, I do. Of course I do, Tony. You wouldn’t ever hurt Peter, or let anyone else hurt him, either. I realized that the first time I saw the two of you together,” Steve said, rocking Tony in his arms as best he could. “He ran to you, and even though you were in terrible pain because of me, you pushed everything else aside, and wrapped him up safe in your arms. Found a way to be strong for him, even when I _couldn’t_ be. I know you, Tony, and I trust Peter with _you_ more than anyone else.”

Tony squirmed around until he could see Steve’s face, his own visibly splotchy, hope and heartache in his eyes. “Why?”

Moving cautiously, Steve cupped Tony’s face in his hands, felt his own tears finally slipping free. “Because you’re a good father,” Steve said, watching Tony’s eyes go wide. “You’re _his_ father.”

“I’m not, though.”

“Maybe not legally, or biologically, but you’ve been a father to him in every other way, whenever possible. I know Peter feels that bond with you,” Steve said, thumbs brushing against Tony’s cheeks, “and you feel it with him.”

Tony kept his eyes lowered, lashes clumped with tears. One of his hands was wrapped around the dog tags, knuckles visibly white even in the semi-darkness of the room. “It might be safer if he didn't,” Tony said softly, sounding scared. “Cycle of abuse and all that. Alcoholism doesn't go away, and statistically speaking I’ll slip at some point. Let's be realistic, Steve, you're trusting your son with a time bomb.”

“Bullshit.” Steve's heart ached fiercely, but he knew that deep down Tony didn't believe what he was saying. “Between the two of us, I'm more of a risk to Peter than you are. Even _if_ you started drinking again. Which won’t happen, by the way.”

“Please, you’re not a risk,” Tony insisted.

“Neither are you.”

“But—”

“We both know I was a mess when we first met. I’ve always loved Peter, but I can see now how much I relied on being around him in order to _barely_ function. I’ve lost touch with reality. I’ve had panic attacks. Hypervigilance, paranoia, depression, insomnia, nightmares, the whole PTSD checklist, Tony.” Steve took a deep breath, and kept going. “You grew up around violence, but I’ve been trained to kill. Have killed. And not only with a gun. Muscle memory is a strange thing. God only knows what could have happened if I kept heading down the road I was on.”

Tony’s mouth opened, a soft, disbelieving noise issuing before he closed it again, and shook his head. “ _Steve_.”

“Look, all I’m saying is if we’re putting everything on the table, and tallying things up, I’m always going to be riskier than you, Tony.” Steve stroked the side of Tony’s face, and smiled. “But honestly? I’m not worried about _either_ of us when it comes to Peter. I’m in a good place. A _really_ good place. Hell, we both are. Do I expect bad days? Sure. Bad months, even. But I don’t have to be scared of myself the way I was before. Neither do you. Come on, Tony, you’ve been leading by example the entire time we’ve known each other.”

With a sigh, Tony let go of the dog tags, and studied Steve’s face, possibly searching for some hidden signs of doubt. Steve’s smile grew, because he knew Tony wasn’t going to find anything there but love, acceptance, and pride.

“Peter loves you, and trusts you, Tony. He’s said as much to each of us on more than one occasion. You make him feel safe. Happy. Important. Smart, and talented. You inspire him, and you’re so _patient_. He’s not afraid to make mistakes, or to try something new, because he knows he can always turn to you for help.”

Tony ducked his head, only for a moment, gratitude flashing in his eyes when he looked up again. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Steve smiled reassuringly. “I don’t know if you noticed, but a couple of minutes ago you defended Peter’s slice of cake for him, even though you were in the middle of dealing with your nightmare. That sort of thing happens all the time, Tony. Taking care of Peter—looking out for him—it’s your default mode.”

Sighing, a good portion of the heartache eased off of Tony’s beautifully expressive face. “I’ve been on the other end of things. Obviously.” One shoulder shrugged up and down. “Stuff that seems little to grown ups feels pretty big when you’re small. Then there’s all the _big_ stuff. It’s terrifying. I’m scared I’ll hurt him, or fuck him up for life.”

“I know. Me too.”

Unable to help himself, Steve’s hand sought out the spot where two figures were inked into his skin; a little boy and his mother, curled together on the side of a road, looking for the way back home. Tony’s eyes tracked the movement, and then he was reaching for Steve’s hand, holding on tight.

“I don’t think I’d be able to do it alone, the way you did,” Tony said softly.

“We both know I got by on luck and stubbornness.” Steve took a deep breath, and let it go. “That applies to too much of my life up until now.”

Tony lifted Steve’s hand so that he could press a kiss against his fingers. “Not anymore.”

“No,” Steve agreed, “not anymore. You showed me a better way. You’ve already made Peter’s life so much better, Tony, just by being yourself. You’re not going to hurt him, you’re going to take care of him, and show him how beautiful the world can be.”

“I think you meant _we_ ,” Tony said, the smile lighting up his face. “As long as you’re positive.”

“ _Yes_. Peter loves you _so much_. When you’re not here, he misses you.” Steve cupped Tony’s face in his hands, pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I get where he’s coming from. I miss you, too. I love seeing the two of you together. It’s one of the best things to come out of our relationship. You’re his family now, Tony. Our family.”

Warm hands wrapped around Steve’s wrists and squeezed. “I _do_ love him,” Tony said. “It’s crazy, Steve. I didn’t know love like that even existed.”

“Tell me about it. Same could be said about you, by the way—I didn’t know love like that existed, Tony.”

“Sap,” Tony accused, but he was grinning. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?”

“Incredibly stubborn,” Steve agreed. “You’d have better luck convincing the wall that you’re not a wonderful father to Peter.”

The look on Tony’s face was as beautiful as it was complex, sadness and happiness mixed with hope and disbelief. Gratitude. Joy. Acceptance. Determination. “You know what? _Fuck_ Howard,” Tony spat, fire in his eyes. “That abusive asshole doesn’t get to ruin this for me. I’ve earned my happiness, and then some.”

“Damn straight,” Steve said.

“He’s dead, so the only way he can hurt me now is if I let him,” Tony continued, sounding more sure of himself. With a grin, he leaned forward, and kissed Steve, a quick press of lips. “I’m Peter’s dad.” Laughing, Tony shook his head, and chewed on his lower lip. His excitement was infectious, left Steve grinning ear to ear, heart racing happily. “Holy shit, Steve, I can’t explain how terrifyingly awesome this is! _I’m Peter’s dad_. You’re _sure_ you’re okay with me being involved to that extent?”

“More than okay. Hell, Tony, if I had my way the three of us would already be living together.”

The words had escaped before Steve could contain them, and now seemed to hang in the room, sucking up all the oxygen. Even if it was the truth, Steve had promised himself he would wait, give it time rather than potentially pushing Tony for too much, too soon. He certainly didn’t want to pressure Tony while he was upset, and vulnerable, and still shaking off the ghost of his father.

“What?” Tony was staring at him, as if unsure of what he’d heard.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I shouldn’t have said anything, especially when you’re upset. That wasn’t fair.”

Tony swallowed, spoke in a rush. “Fuck fair, Steve. You were serious.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. “You want us to live together.”

“Yes.” Staring into Tony’s eyes, Steve wondered how it was possible to keep falling in love with the same person, over and over again. His chest ached with the sensation, until Steve felt like he might crack wide open from the pressure of it all. “For a while now, but I didn’t want to rush you. I wanted to make sure you felt secure first, and—” Shaking his head, Steve forced himself to stop. “This is awful timing on my part. You’re having a rough night, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t talk about this right now.”

“Hold on, what if I want the same thing?” Tony asked, voice cracking at the end. He shifted closer, brushed his lips against Steve’s, eyes wide and unblinking. Steve felt his heart begin to race, chest heaving, hope, and love, and excitement leaving him momentarily adrift. “What then?”

Steve slid his hands into Tony’s hair, brought their foreheads together. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Tony said, making it official. “Yeah, Steve. I hate how often we have to say goodbye. At least you have each other when I’m not around. For me, it’s all backwards. This place, the two of you, _that_ feels like home, and when I leave—”

“Tony, it only feels like home when you’re here with us,” Steve interrupted, watching the happiness shining bright in Tony’s eyes. “It isn’t like before.”

Tony tipped his head, kissed Steve, fast, urgent. “Seriously, Steve, are we actually doing this?”

“Yeah, I think we are,” Steve answered, and then they were laughing together. There were tears, too, but they were happy ones this time around.

“You’re _sure_? I’m not going to be easy to live with, and—”

Steve kissed him quiet. “I’m sure. It means we’ll get to start and end each day with you, Tony.”

“And deal with all my little domestic ineptitudes,” Tony countered. “I’ll fuck up laundry, and probably get lost in the grocery store. It’ll be like having two kids.”

“So I’ll keep doing the laundry. Small price to pay for getting to share story time every night,” Steve pointed out. “And you won’t get lost in the grocery store. We both know you and Peter will team up with the puppy dog eyes so we buy your favorite snacks.”

Tony laughed, the previously mounting tension visibly easing away as they rearranged themselves so they were sitting facing each other. “We should ask Peter first, right?”

“That’s a good idea,” Steve said, smiling wide. “Also, thank you for proving my point for me.” Tony looked confused, so Steve added, “That’s the way a father thinks.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and took Tony’s hand, feeling as if everything hung in the balance. “Before we tell him, though, I need to be entirely honest with you about my expectations.”

Awful conversational timing or not, if they were seriously going to take this next step together, Steve needed to make sure Tony knew what he was in for before letting him agree to anything. He took a deep breath, tried to gather up all the loose ends of his thoughts before beginning, but Tony was looking increasingly nervous, so he opened his mouth, and hoped for the best.

“We’ve never talked about our future. The specifics, I mean, aside from the fact that we’ll all be together.”

Something in Tony’s expression had shifted, the nervousness easing away. Steve felt a lot like Tony was running some sort of algorithm in his head, parsing Steve’s words, reading between the lines. The future was too important to leave to chance, though, and so Steve kept going, despite the niggling fears in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to find himself in a position down the line where he was kicking himself over not being completely open and honest.

“I want to marry you, Tony. I’d do it tomorrow in a heartbeat, but I’m trying to be practical, and patient. Do things right. Living together first makes sense. Being a parent twenty-four-seven is a lot different, and you need time to adjust. We all will, so I want us to have a chance to feel safe and secure together before we make any other big changes. But someday, Tony, someday soon, I want to marry you.”

Warm hands grabbed the sides of Steve’s face, and then Tony’s mouth was on his, hot, hungry, demanding. Tony’s eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, his chest heaving against Steve’s as they kissed, holding each other too tight, because it was necessary. “I want to marry you, too,” Tony said, thumb dragging roughly across the name inked into Steve’s skin. “And I still want that tattoo, whenever you’re ready to give it to me.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, breathless with wonder. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Sorry, I already figured out I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Tony teased. “I even gave Pepper and Rhodey a heads up the night we all kissed and made up.”

Steve felt almost giddy with his happiness. “When that finally happens, I want you to legally adopt Peter,” he blurted. “I’m entirely flexible on surnames, but if we’re married, the adoption is non-negotiable. I want Peter’s status as your son to be incontestable.”

Tony nodded, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “I love how you’re saying all this like I’m going to argue with you,” Tony laughed, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m… Shit, Steve, this is…” Gasping, Tony swiped at his face, and shrugged. “Everything. It’s _everything_. Please don’t take it the wrong way if tomorrow morning I need to confirm this conversation actually happened.”

“Ask me as often as you like,” Steve said. “Come on, I’ve been hogging our future.” Steve took Tony’s hand and pressed it against his chest, right above the tattoo of Tony’s name. “Tell me what _you_ want.”

Fingers stroked the letters, Tony’s smile went wobbly around the edges as he swallowed, and shrugged. “I know you don’t care about my money, and that it’s made you uncomfortable in the past, but I have an obscene amount of the stuff, even after all the philanthropy. I want to be able to spend some on you and Peter and _us_ without feeling guilty.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve blurted. “I didn’t realize I was making you feel that way.”

Tony had started shaking his head as soon as Steve began to apologize. “You haven’t, not in a long time, but earlier on there was a distinct vibe.”

“Yeah, well, if the vibe makes a comeback, call me on my bullshit,” Steve asked. “You’re right, with my background, there could be aspects of your wealth that might take getting used to. I don’t know if I’d be comfortable living in the Stark mansion, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I fucking hate that place,” Tony said, his smile a bit tight around the edges. “I had Pepper donate it years ago, anyway.”

“My point exactly. I love you the way you are, Tony. It just so happens you’re rich. If I act like a dick about that, please tell me, because I’d hate to think I made you feel like you need my approval or permission to spend your money. As long as we’re not spoiling Peter rotten, I’m fine.”

Tony groaned. “No way I’m letting Peter turn into one of the rich little monsters I went to boarding school with. I was thinking of, you know, stuff in general. College, grad school, that sort of thing.”

“See? Then we have nothing to worry about,” Steve said. “Pepper can even have SI’s lawyers put together a prenup,” Steve offered. “I’ll sign whatever she wants.”

“Maybe, if I feel like it,” Tony said absently, chewing on his lower lip. “Backing the conversation up a minute, have you actually given any thought as to _where_ we should live?”

Steve had, possibly to the point of distraction. “You shouldn’t have to give up easy access to your workshop. Peter will be starting kindergarten in the fall, so he’ll be switching schools anyway. I’d spend more time commuting to work if we’re living in Manhattan, but you’ve had to do that plenty, so it’s only fair.”

“I like it better here,” Tony announced, shrugging at Steve. “My place is sterile, and… yeah, sterile. You’re right about the workshop, though. Might have a few ideas kicking around as to how to handle that, but otherwise, um… I’d rather we stay in Brooklyn. Preferably right here, if that’s okay. It already feels like home.”

“Okay,” Steve said, pleasantly surprised. “We can always find another place if this starts to feels too small.”

Tony grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “A _little_ extra room might be nice. We could finally get Peter a dog.”

“I think he’d be receptive to that idea.” Laughing, Steve ducked his head, felt himself blushing furiously. “Speaking of needing extra room.”

He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and forced himself to look Tony in the eyes. “I’ve always wanted Peter to have a brother or sister.” Tony’s eyes widened, but otherwise, his expression remained blank. “The way I was before would have made that impossible, not to mention unfair, and irresponsible. But now, _with you_?” Steve’s voice cracked, and he had to duck his head again, just for a moment. It sounded so much scarier, admitting it out loud. “We’re already good at this, Tony, and I know living together is only going to make us even better parents. Adopting another kid down the line doesn’t sound impossible anymore.”

“Steve,” Tony exhaled, but Steve couldn’t stop his mouth.

“It’s _big_ , I know it is, and I understand if it isn’t something you’re willing to consider taking on. Peter’s a huge responsibility all on his own, and I’m still going to marry you, either way. It’s not like I’m suggesting we put anything in motion now,” he stammered, wishing he could make himself stop babbling. “I still have progress to make with the PTSD before we’d even _consider_ anything. I just wanted to put the idea out there.”

A dazzling, awestruck smile had taken over Tony’s face. “You’d be willing to do it all over again with another kid?”

“Only with you,” Steve answered honestly.

He’d hardly finished speaking before Tony was kissing him again, holding on tight before pulling away to laugh. “You _do_ realize you’ve basically just offered me everything I’ve always wanted, and thought I could never have, right?” Warm hands cradled Steve’s face, holding him in place while Tony stared into his eyes. “I’m not exaggerating, Steve. I’m officially scared shitless that this is all a dream, and I’m going to wake up, and feel like a greedy bastard for wanting so much, when I’ve already got you.”

“Greedy? We haven’t even moved in together, and I’m already talking about marrying you, and adopting kids,” Steve pointed out. ”I’m still getting used to thinking I deserve a future at all. Even admitting this out loud feels… dangerous. Like I’m courting disaster. But not saying _anything_ felt dishonest.”

“I’m glad you said something,” Tony insisted. “Thrilled. _Ecstatic_.”

“Me too,” Steve said. “Although, at this rate, Dr. Coulson is going to lecture me about finding a happy balance.”

Tony expression clouded over somewhat. “Good point. What if he thinks it’s too soon to live together?”

“Knowing Coulson, he’s probably been expecting this from me for awhile now.” Steve pulled Tony close, and held him tighter. “Honestly, I don’t think he’s going to object. This feels too _right_. What about Dr. Cho?”

“Yeah, not going to be surprised at all.”

Steve pressed a kiss along Tony’s jaw. “Well, if she’s worried, or if you decide you need more time, I’m happy to wait for you. We won’t do _anything_ until you’re ready, Tony.”

Tony cleared his throat, cheeks turning pink. “See, the reason she won’t be surprised probably has something to do with the fact that we’ve already talked about it. More than once.”

“Really?” Steve couldn’t help the stupid smile that slipped onto his face.

“I’m a futurist, Steve,” Tony deadpanned, leveling Steve with a look. “Of course we have. You totally trumped me on the _Dare to Dream_ front with the expanded family scenario, but I have you beat when it comes to plans for cohabitation.”

Steve sat up a little straighter, realization taking him by surprise. “You had something specific in mind when you brought up spending money earlier.”

“Bingo,” Tony said, smiling sheepishly. “Also, have I mentioned how much I love the way you can make those intuitive leaps with me?” Steve poked Tony in the side. “Don’t be mad, pumpkin, the only reason I kept it to myself was because I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“At this point it’s seeming a lot like neither of us is feeling pressured.”

“Yeah, good point,” Tony said, excitement bubbling in his voice. “We’re saps, we should have expected this. Anyway, they’re just ideas, so if you hate them, we can go back to the drawing board together.”

“Do I at least get to hear what you had in mind before we scrap things?”

Tony squirmed in his seat, shifting around until he had room to gesticulate. “Well, if we bought the buildings on this side of the block, we could do some _phenomenal_ remodeling,” he said, eyes sparkling, “not only for the apartment, but for the shop, too. You said business has picked up with all the press, and I doubt the appeal is going to die down anytime soon, considering the quality of the work. Buying all of the buildings means _Shield_ and _Valhalla_ would each have plenty of room to expand, and you’d have the option to establish a physical connection between the two businesses if you still wanted to make the partnership official.”

Steve’s mouth was actually hanging open in shock. “Sorry, I’m still wrapping my mind around the idea of buying an entire block.”

“Not the whole block, just one side of the street. Five buildings, no big deal. I know, it sounds like a lot of money, but it really isn’t, especially compared to real estate costs in Manhattan,” Tony swore, holding his hands up in the air as if he expected Steve to run out of the room or something. “They’re all owned by the same company, which makes things easier. Even better, they’re in the market to sell. The handful of residential units aren’t exactly drawing a substantial profit these days. Plus, _Shield_ and _Valhalla_ are the only steady businesses on this side of the street. Everything else has been a revolving door, with months of vacancies in between.”

Having lived on the block for a couple years, Steve knew Tony wasn’t wrong about the turnaround, but his head was still swimming over the extent to which Tony had thought things through.

“At least look at the floorplans for the living quarters before you make any decisions,” Tony pleaded.

“Wait, there are floorplans?” Steve asked, still feeling like he was in shock. “When did that happen?”

“Remember when Clint mentioned taking on apprentices?” Steve nodded, and Tony continued. “Well, you and Nat seemed crazy about the idea, but were complaining there wasn’t actually room to set up additional stations. Which, you know, got me to thinking about knocking down walls, and all the fun possibilities that comes with the willingness to use a sledgehammer, and spend some cash.”

“More room _would_ be nice,” Steve said, sounding dazed even to himself.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Tony said, almost bouncing with excitement. “Don’t worry, other than determining the structural limitations, I didn’t mock up anything for _Shield_. I love what you did with the shop, and thought it’d be fun for you to handle that half of things on your own. Didn’t want to blow up your spot.”

“No, of course not,” Steve murmured, almost positive Tony didn’t hear him.

“Got a couple layouts I’m personally fond of for the new digs, but I’ve been told my taste is questionable. Just so happens I already built a simulation program and loaded it up with a bunch of modules, so if you’re not into what I designed, we can always fire that up, drag and drop until we get it just right. My favorite configuration already factored in guest quarters for shits and giggles, but those could become bedrooms, now that we’re planning on expanding our horizons in the family sense. We’d have plenty of space to work with, even if we factored in a rec room for the kids, and more bathrooms so we don’t all kill each other,” Tony gushed, gesturing around them expansively.

“There _are_ certain mandatory infrastructure modifications and power requirements I’d need to make in order to accommodate moving the workshop, but otherwise we can let our imaginations run wild. Like the roof! Fence it off, put a lawn up there—perfect for dogs and children alike—a deck, sound system, whatever, and _boom_. Perfect spot for a barbeque.” Tony tapped Steve’s knee, voice going all conspiratorial. “Speaking of the roof, did you know there’s skylights up in the third floor unit? Great spot to convert into a studio, so you can start painting again. Just an idea.”

Everything seemed to coalesce in Steve’s mind in an instant, leaving him awestruck. He doubted his own humble imaginings could even came close to the fantasticness of what Tony had dreamed up, but regardless, Steve could almost see the apartment transforming and expanding around them. A currently nonexistent staircase leading to the sort of studio he’d always wanted, and never hoped to have. A world where he was able to pop up from the tattoo parlor in order to have lunch with Tony in the shop. It was easy to imagine Peter in there with Tony, the two of them working on a project together, while Steve watched, and sketched.

Taking a deep breath, Steve allowed himself to be greedy, to fill their dream home with the sound of laughter, and running footsteps, kids and a dog getting underfoot as he put together dinner. Some brave new world where Steve and Tony fell into bed together at the end of each day, exhausted and happily teasing each other over whose brilliant idea it was to keeping adding to their family.

Steve tried to stop before he got too carried away, but then thought of the ease with which Tony had worked the idea of _kids_ into his plans, and wanted to cry over the understanding that all of this was something that could _actually happen_. Somewhere in the not too distant future, there was a whole new life waiting for them, and Steve was beyond excited to see how it all played out.

Unable to help himself, Steve burst out laughing and had to cover his mouth, worried he’d wake up Peter, the pure happiness and perfect absurdity of it all leaving him reeling.

“ _Fuck_ , I’m sorry, Steve, you know I get carried away, it’s the worst, I—”

“No, Tony, stop,” Steve said, grabbing for his hands. “It’s not that. I’m… Well, okay, honestly, I’m trying to wrap my head around the direction this conversation took. Twenty minutes ago I was worried I was pressuring you to live with me before you were ready, and meanwhile you’ve already got _floorplans_.” Steve snickered, and twined their fingers together.

“So, this isn’t you freaking out?” Tony asked, eyes narrowed.

“I’m not freaking out,” Steve assured him. “Neither are you, apparently.”

Tony grinned. “Nope.

“We haven’t even moved in together yet, and I’m talking about adopting kids,” Steve pointed out. “You’d be entitled to some freaking out.”

“Sure, okay, maybe I’ll try later, if you want me to. Right now I’m too busy being happy.”

Smiling hard enough that his face hurt, Steve allowed Tony to pull him into a hug, the two of them falling back against the couch. They kissed, and squirmed, until they were curled up together comfortably, Tony’s nose buried in Steve’s hair.

“Bucky called this, by the way,” Steve said, closing his eyes and breathing in the comforting scent of Tony. “He even warned me not to get married before he did.”

“What, and risk the wrath of Clint?” Tony asked, giving Steve a squeeze. “I’m not that stupid. But, um, while we’re talking about your brother…”

Steve shifted around, propping himself up so he could see Tony’s face, suddenly concerned. “What?”

Tony smiled hesitantly. “Uhh, there might be more to my plan.”

“More?”

“Even taking into account the requirements for my workshop, a dog, and our cadre of future children, we’d have more room than we needed,” Tony explained. “Too much sprawl, and things start feeling empty, and cold, and the opposite of home.”

“So, what did you have in mind?” Steve asked, even though he was pretty sure he already knew what Tony was going to say.

“Giving Bucky and Clint one of the buildings as a wedding present,” Tony said, sounding sheepish. “Same deal with the simulation software, they can build it themselves so they’re not stuck with my eclectic design aesthetic.”

“That’s beyond generous, Tony,” Steve murmured, feeling he should offer Tony an out, even though he loved the idea of Bucky being so close. “You don’t have to do that.”

Tony shrugged. “Nah, it only _seems_ generous. We’ll make them pay us back in babysitting, so we can loudly and enthusiastically screw each other’s brains out.” He glanced up at Steve, and a moment later, the two were going off again, the couch creaking softly beneath them as they shook with laughter, and tried not to wake Peter.

“Maybe our redesign needs to include soundproofing,” Steve sighed, wiping at his face.

“Already factored in.” Tony pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple. “For the master bedroom, anyway. The babysitting plan comes into play for everywhere else in the house.” Tony cleared his throat, cocked his head to the side as he searched Steve’s eyes for some indication that he disapproved. “Come on, give it to me.”

“It sounds like a lot of change,” Steve said after a moment, stomach clenching at the disappointment Tony was clearly attempting to hide. “This… all of it, Tony… It’s too important to rush.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony mumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Like I said, I get carried away, sometimes.”

“Hey,” Steve tilted his head, trying to make eye contact again. “I’m only suggesting we ease into things. Let’s talk to Peter, and see how the three of us acclimate to living together first.”

Tony’s brow furrowed, one eyebrow arching before his smile was back. “First?”

“ _First_ ,” Steve repeated. “Dr. Coulson might start charging me double if I walk into our next session and tell him we’re not only moving in together in anticipation of getting married, we’re also buying up the block, then demolishing my home in order to make room for all the kids we’re going to adopt, while simultaneously remodeling the shop in order to expand my business. All while the press shoves cameras in our faces to document the process.”

“Forget charging you double,” Tony said, “he might try to have you committed.” With a groan, Tony stretched, a yawn following shortly thereafter. “Also, you forgot moving your brother in next door.”

“Right, how could I forgot buying Bucky and Clint a house so they owe us a lifetime of babysitting?” Steve tried and failed to contain his smile, then gave up and kissed Tony instead. “Our future is too important to risk because I’m feeling impatient. We’ll get there before we know it. Together.”

Tony dragged his fingers through Steve’s hair, and nodded his head. “Very wise. Next you’ll be suggesting we try to get a couple hours sleep before we’re completely useless.”

“The idea _had_ crossed my mind.” With a grunt, he clambered off the couch, and groaned when he saw what time it was.

Holding out his hand for Tony, Steve tried to process everything he was feeling and thinking, but it was impossible. There was too much happiness, with hope and optimism scattered throughout; it left his mind pulled in every direction at once.

“I love you,” Steve said, because that was the foundation upon which everything else was built.

Steve pulled Tony into his arms, wrapped him up tight, and safe, Tony’s soft, “I love you, too,” whispered against Steve’s ear before they were on their way, crawling into the bed together, only to reach out again. As he drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t thoughts of the future, but of ghosts from the past. Each of them, in their childhood incarnations, curled together in the center of the bed, safe, and loved, and filling in the missing pieces of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! Steve has come a long way with how he deals with nightmares. And... Tony still has a lot of feelings about his childhood. How nice is it to see Steve not only in a position where he's strong enough to offer support, but Tony feels comfortable/safe enough to accept the support? These two are killing me! But, anyway, I like seeing them making plans for their future, and Steve pulling out the whole, "Let's talk about expectations," thing, which was something Tony brought up waaaaaayyyyyy back when he first confronted Steve re: their relationship.
> 
> I'm sure no one is surprised to hear we're getting towards the end of this story. I'm not positive what the final chapter count will be yet, because I use too many words sometimes. But... not tooooo much more to cover.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony moves in. Peter approves. Groceries are purchased. Steve is Captain Progress.

“Stop.”

“I didn't say anything.”

Tony glanced over his shoulder, not surprised to find Steve wearing his most innocent expression. “You're thinking it, though.”

Steve tossed aside his sketchbook and pencil, and crooked a finger in Tony's direction. His smile only grew when Tony pouted. Steve arched an eyebrow and Tony caved, walked over to the head of the bed, not surprised in the least when Steve snagged him around the waist, and pulled Tony down onto his lap. After some squirming, Tony was more comfortable, had strong arms wrapped tightly around him, and Steve nosing at the sensitive spot behind his ear.

“I hereby recant my previous criticism regarding the amount of space allotted for closets in your floor plans,” Steve said, lips brushing against Tony's skin, giving him goosebumps.

Tony dragged his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Steve's neck, and smiled. “I can leave some of the suits at the penthouse for the time being.”

“Some?” Steve teased.

“Okay, sixty percent,” Tony conceded. “You're sure you're okay with me taking over the entire closet?”

“I still have a few things in there,” Steve pointed out. “But yes, Tony. You're already downgrading by moving in with us. The least I can do is give you a closet.”

Tony shifted until he could see Steve's face, then kissed him, hard and fierce. “I'll take you and Peter over a large closet any day.”

“I know,” Steve said, giving Tony a squeeze. He snuggled closer again, lips pressed against the curve of Tony's neck. “It does feel a bit unfair, though.”

“You say that now,” Tony murmured. “Just wait until I'm leaving mugs all over the apartment, or forgetting to take out the trash.”

Tony could feel Steve's smile against his skin, and found himself grinning in return. “Mm, small price to pay for getting to keep you,” he said, hands sliding downward to squeeze Tony's bottom.

With a contented sigh, Tony rocked himself against Steve, but before they could get carried away, the sound of the buzzer cut through the peaceful silence of the apartment. With a little cheer Tony scrambled off of Steve's lap, and headed for the door, Steve not far behind.

“Tony, I saw a panda!” Peter screeched as soon as the door was opened.

“You did?” Tony crouched down to accept the hug Peter was offering, and hoisted the little boy up and into his arms. “What'd you and the panda talk about?”

“Pandas can't talk,” Peter said, his tone making it clear he thought Tony was being ridiculous.

“Hey, May. Ben,” Steve said from behind them. “Want to come up for some coffee?”

“Next time,” May said, smiling as she watched Tony hand a wriggling Peter over to his father, so the hugging could continue. “We're seeing a show later, if you can believe it.”

May and Ben smiled at each other, and Tony had the strangest sensation wash over him, a sort of preemptive happiness, mostly because he could easily imagine himself still mooning over Steve years and years down the line. Of course, there was a bittersweet undertone to watching them say their goodbyes to Peter, one Tony assumed Steve felt often. It was tied up with the understanding that—had things played out differently—May and Ben would have made lovely parents.

With a wave, a smile, and wishes for a happy evening together, Tony shook off the melancholy, and followed Steve and Peter upstairs. Excitement and nervousness bubbled up inside of his chest, leaving him drumming his fingers against the dog tags hanging beneath his shirt. To say Peter had been thrilled over the idea of Tony living with them would have been a massive understatement, but reality had a way of falling short of expectations. At least, that had been Tony’s experience for most of his life.

As much as he’d wanted to sit Peter down and talk to him about their plans right away, he and Steve had decided to let the Coulson conversation happen first, just in case the therapist raised some valid points for putting off their little family merger. Tony’s anxiousness over the outcome resulted in him waiting outside in the car while Steve had his session, clockwatching and feeling queasy. Thankfully, when he finally saw Steve again, Tony knew in an instant that they’d been given the green light, Steve’s smile leaving Tony’s stomach fluttering with love and excitement.

Armed as they were with a therapeutic permission slip, Steve and Tony had broached the subject of cohabitation over dinner that evening. Tony’s leg had bobbed incessantly beneath the table as Steve carefully explained what they were considering, Peter’s little eyes growing wider as he listened.

“It’s okay if you want to take time to think about it,” Tony said, once he could get his mouth to work. “It’s also totally cool if you want to say no, Petey-pie. You and your dad have a special little world together, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting things to stay the way they are. I love you, kiddo, so I won’t be mad, and we’ll still get to play together, and hang out, and everything. And, saying no now doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind later on. We can always wait. Okay?”

While Tony talked, Peter shifted around in his chair, looking more and more like he might get up and make a run for it, his tiny body all but vibrating with energy. As soon as Tony wrapped up his disclaimer, Peter shoved his chair back from the table, and proclaimed, “But I don’t wanna wait.” To make his opinion painfully clear, he then hopped out of his seat, jumping up and down, chanting, “Now, now, _now_.”

“I think he likes the idea,” Steve said from across the table, not even bothering to hide his smugness.

“Tony,” Peter squeaked, grabbing Tony’s hand and tugging, “ _come on_ , we need to go get your stuff! Daddy, can Tony share my room?”

“No, Tony will share with me, like he does when sleeping over now,” Steve answered, doing his very best not to laugh.

“Come here, munchkin.” Tony scooped Peter up, and squeezed him tight, trying not to cry with relief and happiness. “We have some family planning to do first, so we’ll get my stuff a little later. You’re sure this is okay? I don’t _have_ to move in.”

Peter’s expression wavered, big brown eyes going all round again as he stared up at Tony. “But I get _sad_ when you’re not here,” Peter said, lower lip sticking out pathetically. “Me an’ daddy miss you too much, so you should stay all the time.”

“Okay then,” Tony managed around the lump in his throat, “guess I better move in soon, huh? I don’t want you to be sad.”

There had been a lot of hugging, and excited planning, Peter remaining all but glued to Tony’s side for the rest of the evening. As if worried Tony still needed convincing, Peter brought up reason after reason for why Tony living with them would be the best. Lazy pajama and cartoon mornings on the weekend, getting to read stories together _every_ night, being able to do all of the science; eventually Steve joined in, and Tony was left to struggle with the overwhelming happiness. The future was now, and apparently it was _really happening_.

Steve had watched the way Peter excitedly attached himself to Tony, catching Tony’s eye again and again, love and happiness all but shining out of his painfully handsome face. And when, despite his excitement, Peter had finally gone to sleep, Steve had pulled Tony into his arms, and kissed him for a very long time. Climbing into bed together that night had felt different somehow, and Tony was still hazy on how they’d managed to keep quiet as they tossed aside clothing, and took their time celebrating.

Theoretically, everything was peachy, but there was always the chance Peter would feel differently once it was actually happening, which was why Tony found himself getting nervous all over again. They’d taken advantage of Peter’s previously scheduled weekend with the Parkers to start moving Tony into the apartment, giving the little guy a heads up. It had almost resulted in Peter demanding he be allowed to stay home, but once he heard lots of cleaning was going to be involved, he opted to skedaddle as planned.

Now that the moment of truth had arrived, Tony was officially ready to believe that disappointment wasn’t going to be making an appearance anytime soon. Peter was all but vibrating with excitement as he danced around the broken down cardboard boxes still stacked in the living room. Tony watched him make a circuit, eyes going wide over the little additions that he spotted here and there.

A new bookshelf was now wedged in beside Steve’s own, all loaded up with old dog eared volumes of science fiction, and nerdy knickknacks. Tony did most of his reading digitally these days, but had dug out the hard copies with Peter in mind. Some of them would be fun bedtime stories, while the rest could be enjoyed by Peter a couple years down the line.

Some new photos had found their way into the collection, like that of a much younger Tony sitting at the piano with his mother. It was one of the few photos he had where they both looked happy. Steve had stared at the photo for a long time before shifting things on a shelf so it could be nestled between a photo of Steve and Sarah, and the Parkers holding a newborn Peter.

Even though it was a tight fit, they’d decided to swap Steve’s bed for Tony’s. The rest of his furniture stayed behind, but his beloved coffee machine had made the journey, along with any other kitchenware Steve had wanted to adopt. Really, aside from that and his clothing, there hadn't been much Tony wanted to bring from the Tower.

Tony’s real home was the workshop, the penthouse serving more as a place to sleep and eat than anything else. Now, Tony was left regretting not collecting more _stuff_ over the years, because he really liked seeing little pieces of himself folded into the Rogers household. Or, the Rogers-Stark household, as Steve had taken to calling it.

As Tony watched, Peter reached for an old Voltron model he’d put together back when he was at M.I.T., little fingers hovering in the air without making contact. “Tony, what’s that?” Peter asked, opting to point instead of grab.

“That would be Voltron, Defender of the Universe,” Tony explained. “It’s okay, you can check him out.”

Peter carefully extracted the model from the shelf, got his face all up in the thing, and it was stupid, really, but suddenly Tony wanted to burst into tears. Happy ones, yeah, but it was still a whole lot of emotion sitting heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Mostly, he was left trying to wrap his head around all the ways in which things had changed for the better. If he wanted to, Tony could easily conjure up a mental snapshot of each and every time Steve had excluded him from Peter’s life since they’d met each other, and yet somehow they’d reached a point where the scales had tipped drastically in the other direction. Crazier still, they’d gotten there well before Tony finished filling out his change of address forms. It felt a lot like he’d _just_ been crying in his workshop over missing Peter’s birthday party, and now Tony was going to get to be there to watch Peter grow up. Was going to play a part in _how that happened_ , which was… yeah, amazing, but a lot to process.

“Check it out,” Tony said, crouching down beside Peter. “See these? They’re each separate robots that come together to form a bigger robot.”

“ _Whoa_.”

Peter’s entire face was lit up with excitement and curiosity, and there was that crazy feeling again. Tony wanted to wrap the little boy up in his arms, and never let go, was determined to do whatever it took to keep him safe, and give him every bit of love and attention Tony had never received when he was a little boy.

“Right, and don’t they also transform into other things,” Steve asked innocently, “like big rigs?”

The noise of indignation escaped before Tony could contain it, but as soon as he glared over his shoulder he realized Steve was totally messing with him. While Tony sputtered, Steve burst out laughing, leaving Peter slightly confused.

“What’s a big rig?”

“It’s a tractor-trailer,” Tony explained, standing up so he could grab one of his Optimus Prime models. “Don’t listen to him, Peter, your father is intentionally mixing up universes to make me go into indignent nerd mode.”

“Is it working?” Steve asked innocently.

“Nope,” Tony lied, then held up his model for Peter. “Technically, in the earlier cartoons Optimus Prime transformed into a flat-nose cab over semi-trailer truck, like this one.” Peter nodded, still holding onto Voltron, and Tony set the truck model aside, and snagged the robot version. “The rest of the time, he looked like this. Totally not even remotely close to Voltron, as you can see.”

Peter held Voltron up near Optimus Prime, his adorable face scrunched up. “They’re a _little_ bit alike,” he said seriously, pointing to some of the similarities. “Tony, are there breeds of robots like there are dogs?”

“Not breeds, exactly, my little nerdling,” Tony answered, heart overflowing with adoration. Peter looked like he wanted to start taking notes. “Classifications. Similar concept.”

“Before you two disappear down your robot rabbit hole, grocery shopping needs to happen if we’re going to eat this week. Did you fellas want to stay here, or come along?”

“We can help, daddy!”

Tony had no idea why the suggestion left him feeling intimidated. Steve wasn’t going to dump him because he sucked at normal life stuff, but chances were they’d be recognized if all three of them went to the store together. Despite all the reassurances he’d been given, Tony wasn’t positive Steve had come to terms with the understanding that ‘normal life stuff’ might no longer be an option for them. Of course, if that was the case, it was probably better they figured it out sooner rather than later.

“Did you want to stay and finish unpacking?” Steve asked in French, his expression carefully neutral.

Peter made a little sound of annoyance, prompting Tony to ruffle his hair, and answer in English. “Nah, you heard Peter, we’re ready, willing, and able to help. Right, kiddo?”

“Right,” he chirped, holding Voltron over his head triumphantly.

“Okay, then, let’s all take a bathroom break, and get ready to roll out,” Steve suggested.

Carefully, Peter placed Voltron back on the shelf, then scampered out of the room. Steve smiled after him, then leaned over so he could snag Tony’s wrist, pull him closer. “Everything catching up?”

“Mm. Kinda? Not even in a _bad_ way, more a, ‘Oh no, I never prepared to actually be happy, now what?’ sort of way.”

Steve nodded, expression serious, and Tony _loved_ that, loved that Steve didn’t dismiss his concerns, or tell him he was overreacting. “I still feel that way a lot of the time,” he said, stroking the side of Tony’s face. “Like someone’s going to find out, decide I don’t deserve it, and try to take my happiness away.”

So, really, Tony didn’t have much choice in the matter, he had to kiss Steve, because never ever did he think he’d find himself so tangled up in another person’s happiness. Maybe someday it would all feel normal, but part of him hoped that wasn’t the case. Taking what he and Steve had for granted would be a crime.

“Not going anywhere,” Tony said, and since Steve still looked a bit too serious, he added, “except the bathroom, when Peter’s done.”

Tony wasn’t surprised in the least to learn that sometime over the course of the weekend, Steve had made a grocery list, and planned their dinners for the week without him being any the wiser. It was probably ridiculous, but Tony’s nervousness was tempered by excitement, because they were going out as a family, and then coming _home_ as a family, and for once, it really, truly was Tony’s home.

Peter seemed to pick up on the vibe, his enthusiasm prompting Steve to shake his head, and smile indulgently. “You’d think we were going somewhere fun.”

“The store _is_ fun, daddy,” Peter swore. “They have cookies.”

“Right, and they also have _food_ ,” Steve said, tousling Peter’s hair, “like broccoli.”

“Aw, broccoli, no,” Peter whined, prompting Steve to laugh, and pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Thanks Clint,” under his breath.

Figuring it’d be a good parent thing to do, Tony forced a smile onto his face. “Hey, broccoli’s like a green cookie, ah, you know, if cookies were full of vitamins instead of sugar.”

“Very convincing,” Steve said, but he sounded amused, and happy, so Tony had no complaints. Steve could buy all the broccoli he wanted.

After having his mini-breakdown on the phone with Pepper the year before, Tony had taken control of procuring his own groceries, but he’d opted for modifying his existing standing order with the delivery service, rather than braving the supermarket on his own. It wasn’t like he’d never been in one, it was only that he hadn’t actually properly grocery shopped before, and the entire concept was a fantastic novelty.

“Holy shi—, er, donuts,” Tony gasped. “There’s like a dozen different types of apples alone. How do you even begin to figure out which is the best?”

“Practice,” Steve said, repositioning Tony so that he was holding onto the shopping cart. “Don’t worry, you’re a genius, you’ll figure it out in no time.”

As Tony watched, Peter and Steve shared a smile, as if they’d been waiting forever for Tony to be included in their weekly shopping trip, and couldn’t believe it was finally happening. At this rate, Tony was going to have a breakdown from happiness in the grocery store, and the press would have a field day circulating photos of him weeping in public.

“Fruits and veggies first,” Peter explained.

He shuffled down to the end of the cart, and climbed on, grinning in Tony’s direction, and with that, their adventure began. Steve patiently answered Tony’s questions as they worked their way through the store, checking items off of their list as they went, and doing a surprisingly good job of keeping them moving. Tony could have spent twenty minutes or so in each aisle, but early into the trip they were already beginning to attract attention, so it was only a matter of time before someone decided subtly was overrated, and shoved a camera in his face.

“I like blueberry jelly,” Peter explained, pointing at a jar. “What’s your favorite?”

“Grape,” Tony said after mulling it over. “It’s a classic for a reason.”

There were two girls across the aisle pretending to look at pop tarts while attempting to get a photo of them all together. Tony braced for impact, but Steve simply rolled his eyes, and smiled.

“Peter, would you be able to help Tony pick out peanut butter while I pop ahead for a few things?” Steve asked. “Can’t hurt to speed it up a little,” he added in a rush, kissing Tony’s cheek before hustling off.

Watching him go was borderline terrifying, but Tony sucked it up, and managed to get peanut butter without their cart being stolen, knocking over a shelf and burying them alive in food, or embarrassing himself in some new and terrible way. Even the shutterbugs behaved, giving them a little wave, saying, “Hi,” and, “I love the new StarkPhone,” as he and Peter rolled past.

“Tony, does everyone know who you are?” Peter asked once Tony had finished returning the greeting as politely as possible.

“Not everyone,” Tony answered, “but lots of people.”

“Do you know all of them?”

A bit of dark laughter escaped before he could bite it back, but thankfully Peter seemed unphased. “Nah. You’ve met most of my friends, and I know the people who work with me, or for Pepper, and a bunch of different scientists. Some other people, too, but not a lot. Not really.”

“It’s cause of science that they know you,” Peter said, as if he was mulling this over out loud.

“Kind of. My dad was famous before I was born, so people knew who I was as soon as I showed up. Then, once I got bigger, I built lots of stuff that people like to use, so now I’m sort of double famous.”

Peter seemed to be giving Tony’s words a lot of thought, face scrunched up in concentration. “Am I famous?”

Tony wasn’t sure how to answer, and frantically scanned the store for Steve. “Uh…”

“ _Your_ daddy was famous, and it made _you_ famous.”

“That’s true,” Tony agreed, a wave of guilt crashing over him. The last thing Peter needed was to be saddled with notoriety. Tony remembered all too well how much that had sucked when he was growing up.

“It’s _official,_ Tony,” Peter said, sounding uncharacteristically solemn, “‘cause now all your toys are at home with my toys, and daddy’s artist stuff, remember? You moved in and we only have one home, like a real family.”

Feeling like his heart was beating fast enough to make his entire body vibrate, Tony nodded dumbly. “That’s right, it’s all official, kiddo.”

“Good, ‘cause I told my friend Gwen at school that you’re my other daddy, even though I call you Tony,” Peter explained.

“You did?”

“Uh huh.”

Whatever guilt he was feeling had been washed away by an overwhelming sense of relief and joy and all sorts of craziness, leaving Tony’s eyes brimming with tears. “That’s _really_ cool, Pete,” he managed to choke out. “I hope you know that I love you like you’re my son.”

Peter grinned. “Yeah. But, Tony, if I’m your son, doesn’t that make me famous?”

“Do you _want_ to be famous?” Tony asked, still spinning out over the direction their conversation had taken.

“I don’t know,” Peter answered, head tilted to one side. “What happens when you're famous?”

“Sometimes, people want to talk to you and take your picture, even if you don’t want them to,” Tony said, swallowing. “It can make you cranky, but it isn’t bad all the time.”

“Like the camera people taking our pictures in the morning sometimes,” Peter said, and Tony nodded. “They knew my name, but I didn't know them.”

“That's right,” Tony agreed. “Uh, and remember, we don't talk to strangers, or go anywhere with people who aren’t family, right?”

“No. That's stranger danger.”

Tony took a deep breath and let it go. There was no point in working himself into a panic at the grocery store over the idea of someone kidnapping Peter. That could happen later, when they weren't in public, and if he was lucky, Steve would agree to Peter being assigned some discrete bodyguards.

“They might take your picture even more, now that we all live together. If it bothers you, come tell me or your dad, okay?”

“Okay.”

Still reeling, Tony started pushing the cart again, finally spotting Steve as they rounded the aisle. He had an armload of items, but was in what appeared to be deep conversation with a much younger guy. Tony wasn't jealous—that would have been stupid and also pointless considering how much Steve loved him—but he _was_ curious.

“Care to lighten your load?”

Steve turned at the sound of Tony's voice, a smile lighting up his face. “Hey,” he said, taking Tony up on the offer before gesturing to the man standing beside him. “This is Jake. Jake, this is my partner, Tony, and that's our son, Peter.”

Tony kind of sort of wanted to grab both sides of Steve's face and kiss him stupid for that introduction, but instead he grinned like a lovesick fool, before getting a grip on himself long enough to shake Jake's hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Jake stammered, before turning back to Steve. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Captain, I should let you finish your shopping.”

“Don't break up the party on my account,” Tony said, one of his press smiles firmly in place. “Peter and I can keep going if you want?”

“Jake came out to his father last week,” Steve explained, “after reading that piece the _Daily News_ threw together.”

Aside from the statements they’d put out through Pepper, social media, and the reprint of the spread Steve and his team had done for _Skin Deep_ magazine years ago, there wasn’t much more than speculation being printed about them at the moment. Tony struggled to imagine how anyone could have been inspired by the piece in question. It had been hacked together using out of context quotes from prior interviews Tony had done with more credible publications, and featured awful photos of the two of them skulking around in baseball caps and sunglasses while attempting to buy Peter ice cream one afternoon.

“That can be tricky,” Tony said. “Everything work out okay?”

Jake shrugged, and ducked his head before smiling up at Steve through his lashes. Oh yeah, the kid had it bad, but Tony couldn't blame him. Steve was a walking, talking piece of art, and apparently a good role model, to boot.

“Pop's a vet,” Jake explained, shrugging a shoulder. “We don't talk about stuff like, um, _that_ , or... feelings. I wasn't planning on saying anything ever, ‘cause I figured he’d disown me. Mom knew, and my little sister, but, um…”

“Suddenly an openly gay, ex-Special Forces, Medal of Honor recipient is all the rage in the media?” Tony prompted, watching relief wash across Jake’s face.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling shyly. “I figured… If I was ever gonna try to tell him, that was a pretty good opening. I left that, and the issue of _Skin Deep_ out on the kitchen table, and then worked up the nerve to ask Pop what he thought of Captain Rogers.”

“Well, I hope he surprised you in a good way,” Tony said, trying not to think of Howard.

Jake nodded, grinning at Steve again. “He did, actually. I mean, he's still getting used to the idea, but… Anyway, I didn’t mean to intrude. Just, when I saw Captain Rogers, I couldn't pass up the chance to thank him in person. I don't think I would have been brave enough to say anything, otherwise.”

“You would have gotten there on your own, Jake,” Steve insisted, clasping the young man's shoulder. He was using the no nonsense, “This is your captain speaking,” voice and everything, so it wasn't surprising to see Jake go all adoring on them again.

“Maybe,” he said, grinning down at his shoes.

Peter was beginning to get fidgety, half hanging off of the back of the grocery cart, and staring up at the ceiling, singing a song under his breath.

“Looks like we’ve got another twenty minutes, tops,” Steve said, nodding his head in Peter’s direction. “Jake, it was great talking with you. I know everything will work out. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop by the shop and say hello.”

“Thanks again, Captain.” Jake shook Steve’s hand, then Tony’s, waving at Peter before he scooped up his basket of groceries, and headed on his way. Before he was out of the aisle, he spun on his heels, and added, “Great meeting you!”

Once he was out of sight, Tony gave Steve a playful shove. “Look at you,” he said, enjoying the blush creeping across Steve’s face. “Bet you weren’t expecting that in the grocery store.”

“Definitely not,” Steve admitted. He shook the grocery list in the air, and smiled sheepishly. “Come on, let’s wrap this up before someone has a meltdown.”

Steve powered them through the rest of their shopping excursion as if he was leading them into battle, which was actually more than a little awesome, as far as Tony was concerned. It was also for the best, because by the time they made it to the checkout, Peter was running on fumes. In fact, almost as soon as the car started moving, Peter dozed off.

“I’m pretty sure the kid checking us out tweeted a picture of our groceries.”

“Is it sad that I can’t tell if you’re kidding?” Steve asked, squeezing Tony’s thigh.

Tony studied Steve’s profile, and wanted to ask if he was sick of dealing with fame yet. He kept his mouth shut, though, not because he was afraid of the answer, but because he had a feeling Steve was in the process of working through something in his mind.

“Not kidding,” Tony admitted.

Nodding to himself, Steve kept his eyes fixed on the road, while Tony kept his eyes fixed on Steve.

“While you were gone, Peter did some sharing,” Tony blurted. “Apparently he told Gwen that I’m his other daddy, even though he calls me Tony.”

“Is it too soon to say I told you so?” Steve smiled at the rearview mirror, Peter now snoring softly in the backseat. “Because I told you so.”

“Please, gloat to your heart’s content,” Tony suggested. “I almost had a full on Hallmark moment meltdown in the grocery store. How the hell do you walk around without your chest exploding from love overload? Each time I think I couldn’t get any happier, you or Peter managed to raise the bar a little higher.”

Steve laughed. “Wait until he starts calling you dad.”

“Not sure I’ll be able to take it. We should invest in some gym mats, cover the apartment with them for when I overdose on happy, and faint.”

“I have faith in your ability to manage,” Steve said. “Congratulations on surviving grocery shopping, by the way.”

Tony grinned, and allowed himself to become momentarily distracted by how good Steve’s arms looked in short sleeves. “Peter kept me out of trouble. I think it was actually more of an adventure for you than it was for me.”

“Jake?” Steve asked, glancing at Tony. “Yeah, that was something else.”

It felt like there was a lot more being left unsaid, but Tony was hesitant to push. “Well, I’m happy to listen, whenever you want.”

Steve took one hand off of the steering wheel, and reached for Tony, squeezing his hand. “Later. I’m still thinking things through.” He glanced at Tony, as if to make sure this was okay, smiling gratefully when he realized Tony wasn’t going to raise a stink. “I can carry the groceries up, if you get Peter.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

And so, when they eventually got home, Tony had the pleasure of wrestling with the car seat, somehow managing to extract Peter without him doing much more than opening bleary eyes, and smiling up at Tony. The whole production of getting the doors opened, and everything and everyone upstairs felt significant in a way it never had before. Steve must have been on the same wavelength, because he set down the groceries long enough to kiss Tony, Peter nestled safely between them as he whispered, "Love you," against Tony's lips.

After depositing Peter in his bed, and removing his shoes for him, Tony headed back out to the kitchen to help put away the groceries. “What do you think, an hour?”

Steve glanced at his watch. “Yeah, if he doesn’t wake up on his own. Between the zoo this morning, the grocery store, and the excitement over you moving in, I’m not surprised he crashed.”

“Hell, I’m tempted to join him,” Tony said. He fired up the coffeemaker, and shook the bag of beans at Steve. “Think I’ll have a mug of naptime, instead. Want any?”

“Sure.” Steve leaned back against the counter, and folded his arms across his chest, a serious expression on his face. Tony arched an eyebrow, and Steve took a deep breath, then opened his mouth. “If I wanted to accept one of the interview offers I’ve received, would that go through Pepper first?”

Tony froze, needing to replay the words to make certain he’d heard correctly. The first time someone had approached Steve for an interview, he’d told Tony all about it, sounding surprised to be asked. Of course, the offers continued to come his way, so it stopped feeling like a topic worthy of conversation. Clint had deputized himself Steve’s Publicity czar, and regularly trashed messages from publications or shows he disliked. Supposedly, he had a collection of business cards he was maintaining for some nefarious purpose, but Tony knew Clint had also held onto some legitimate contacts, in case Steve changed his mind. Which, apparently, was happening.

“Uh, anyone specific in mind?”

“I think I need to see how I handle print before attempting anything else, so _The Advocate_ ,” Steve said. “Bucky’s friend over at _Skin Deep_ wanted to do a follow up, too. I’d do that one first, as long as you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Tony said, still feeling a bit shocked. “This is because of Jake, right?”

Steve nodded, brow furrowing. “I’ve been thinking of the press as… Well, invasive assholes? Of course, those are mostly the scumbag photographers, not the actual press. Meeting Jake made me think that I could use this as an opportunity to help people. Raise some awareness about issues that are important to me.”

“Definitely, yeah.” Tony fiddled with the coffee maker, and tried to rein in his racing thoughts. “Um, the PTSD might come up.”

“I figured as much,” Steve said. Tony turned around to give him his full attention, not entirely surprised to find him standing tall, chin tilted defiantely. “Since PTSD is one of the issues I want to raise awareness for, that’s not a problem.”

“Oh.”

Tony wasn’t sure why that was so shocking to hear. Back when Bucky had handed him that all important missing piece of the Steve puzzle, Tony hadn’t had any trouble imagining a universe where Steve made himself the poster boy for tackling mental health issues.

“Sure you’re ready for that level of scrutiny?”

“No,” Steve admitted, but he followed it up with a smile. “It’s stupid to assume I’ll have the luxury of waiting until I’m ready, though. It’s only a matter of time before someone follows me to group, or therapy, and puts two and two together. Better to put it out there on my own terms, control the narrative, right?”

“Ah, the student is becoming the master,” Tony sighed, squeaking a moment later when Steve grabbed hold of him, and pulled him into a hug. Unsurprisingly, a kiss followed, Steve staring down into his eyes, searching for something. “Part of me is scared shitless, because I want to protect you from the world, but that’s kind of ridiculous, all things considered.”

“I still appreciate the sentiment.”

“We can call Pepper after dinner, if you want to get the ball rolling.” Steve’s smile grew, and Tony felt a lot better about making the offer. “She’s probably going to reward you with your very own PR person, and then give you a lecture about not being _me_ , which involves actually letting said person do their job.”

“Good,” Steve said, relief evident. “Doing the interviews will be stressful enough.”

“There’ll be photoshoots, too,” Tony pointed out.

To his surprise, the blush crept back into Steve’s face. “They weren’t so bad when we did them for _Skin Deep_ , but, um, I passed on the shirtless photos they wanted to take.”

“What about this time around?” Tony asked, heart beginning to race.

“I might say yes,” Steve answered, teeth worrying at his lower lip for a moment. “As long as you didn’t mind.”

“Hmm.” Tony clasped his hands behind Steve’s neck, and stared up into his eyes. “Am I okay with the entire world getting to see my name tattooed on the chest of my incredibly brave, dedicated, and heroic—not to mention mind meltingly hot—boyfriend? Yeah, I think I can survive the ordeal. Might even buy up the unused photos for the ol’ spank bank.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve admonished.

“Seriously, I get it,” Tony said, giving Steve a little shake. “If you’re going to start opening up about your PTSD, that’s a pretty good way to go about things.”

Another soft kiss was pressed against his mouth, Steve’s arms tightening around him as they swayed together in the kitchen. _Their_ kitchen, Tony reminded himself giddily, in _their_ apartment, where he lived with Steve and Peter.

“Would you be willing to participate, if _The Advocate_ wants to sit down with both of us?”

“Sure. You’re in this mess because of me, Steve, so anything I can do to make it easier for you at this point is a win in my books.”

Steve gave him another kiss, then released Tony so he could fill their mugs with coffee. “I’ll talk to Dr. Coulson before I schedule anything. I was thinking I’d pick Sam’s brain to make sure I hit all the important talking points. Maybe see if Clint, Bucky, and Natasha want to participate, too, since they were in the first piece.”

Tony studied the relaxed slope of Steve’s shoulders, and the complete lack of tension in his jaw, and marveled over the progress that had been made in such a relatively short period of time. Some of it was the antidepressants, but the rest was all down to Steve Rogers. The way he’d tackled everything head on, the sheer determination he’d brought to bear once he’d been officially diagnosed; every minute of every day, Steve worked his ass off to honor the promise he’d made to Tony the morning of his breakdown.

Any lingering fears Tony had harbored in the early days of their renegotiated relationship had been more than washed away. Steve’s level of commitment was astounding, and humbling, and without a doubt, Tony knew that giving him another chance had been one of the most important decisions of his life.

“Hey,” he said, waiting until Steve was looking at him again. “I love you. So much it _hurts_ sometimes. And right now, more than ever, I’m ridiculously proud of you, Steve. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Steve answered almost bashfully, “but it’s still nice to hear. Thanks, Tony. I don’t know how I became convinced the way I was feeling before was something I deserved.” With a sigh, he handed Tony a steaming mug, and smiled a sad little smile. “Hell, I’m not sure how I was even getting through the day. If I can… if being open about my PTSD helps even _one_ person get the help they need, it’ll be worth it to me.”

“Well, considering you already helped Jake come out to his father without actually trying, that bodes well for your future as a role model.”

Steve’s answering smile was priceless, and Tony was tempted to drag him over to the couch so they could have a nice little makeout session, but there wasn’t much time left before Peter would need to get up from his nap. Instead, he sat with Steve at the kitchen table, and enjoyed his coffee, and the understanding that he was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF! Voltron and Optimus Prime are totally different, Steve, you adorable troll. ;D Look, more Tony & Peter being cute! Steve is ready to role model! Tony needs a bigger closet, so time to start seriously considering when you want to buy up the block, Steve. ;D


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a bad day now and then.

Steve tensed up at the soft sound of knocking. Moving quickly, he closed the trunk he normally kept wedged in the back of the bedroom closet, engaging the padlock before he pushed it out of sight. After making a quick pass of his hand across his face to confirm his cheeks were dry, he called out, “Yeah?”

The word came out sounding angrier than Steve had intended, so it was no surprise that Tony's expression was carefully neutral when he opened the door, and slipped inside, his quiet, “Hey,” making Steve squirm with guilt, and shame, and irritation.

Steve braced himself for the questions, or for an attempt to cheer him up, but Tony only cleared his throat, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Peter and I are going to be heading over to the New York Hall of Science with Bruce. I can grab some dinner on the way back if you want. Just send a text, okay?”

The silence stretched out uncomfortably as Steve processed the words. Once his brain caught up with Tony's announcement, “Oh,” was all he could manage, but at least he didn’t sound angry anymore.

“You're welcome to join us,” Tony added, lowering his eyes, “but I'm kind of getting the feeling you need some time to yourself.”

He wanted to argue, to tell Tony he was fine, and that he’d love to spend the afternoon watching him and Peter nerd out together, because at least part of the statement would be true. Tony was always in his element in those places, so at times he’d be talking a mile a minute, Peter hanging on every word, curiosity lighting up his adorable little face. Normally, observing the wonderful ways in which Tony and Peter fed off of each other was one of Steve’s favorite pastimes, but the idea of so much as stepping outside of the house with them while feeling the way he currently did had Steve’s heart sitting uncomfortably in his throat.

With a sigh, Steve climbed up off of the floor, and shuffled around their ridiculously large bed so he could be closer to Tony. “You don’t have to leave on account of me,” he said, surprised by the slight undercurrent of desperation in his voice.

Tony stopped shoegazing, met Steve’s eyes again, and it was a relief to see only concern waiting for him there. “Hey, sit down for a minute,” he said. Once Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, Tony settled down beside him, and knocked their shoulders together. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting some time to yourself, Steve. It’s healthy.”

“I know.” Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling a bit torn down the middle.

A warm hand settled against his back, rubbing circles. “Look, I’m making educated guesses over here, so if I’ve read this wrong, and you want us to stay put, we’ll do that instead. I haven’t said anything to Peter yet, so I wouldn’t even need to deal with another meltdown.”

Despite how shitty he was feeling, Steve smiled reassuringly, and pressed closer to the warmth of Tony’s body. Tony had already learned the hard way a couple weeks back that plans and schedules were best ironed out _before_ Peter got his heart set on doing something.

While Steve had been showering, Tony had gotten Peter excited about going to the workshop with him to play with a new virtual robot building program he’d created. Unfortunately, Tony hadn’t checked the schedule first, and it was left to Steve to point out the conflict, which was a dentist’s appointment of all things. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Tony to let Steve be the bad guy, but once he realized he’d promised something he couldn’t deliver on, Tony had immediately gone to explain the change of plans to Peter.

Steve had felt awful at the time—Peter had done the whole, “But you promised,” thing, then followed this up with accusations and admonishment and a tearful, “You’re a liar!”—but getting to experience Peter being angry with him had been an important parenting milestone for Tony. He’d handled it all beautifully while it was happening, acknowledging Peter’s anger and disappointment, owning up to his mistake, apologizing, and staying calm throughout the ordeal. There hadn’t been any desperate placating, or an attempt to send Peter off for a timeout because of his outburst, only acceptance, and support, and so it wasn’t surprising that by the time Peter had to leave for his appointment, he was hugging Tony goodbye, and even offering an apology for having yelled.

That night, once Peter was in bed, Steve hadn’t been surprised in the least when Tony’s insecurities had caught up with him, and spent quite a bit of time offering entirely justified reassurances. Steve didn’t want Tony walking around thinking the things Peter said when angry were representative of the way he felt in general.

The first time Peter said, “I hate you,” to him while having a tantrum, Steve had almost burst into tears on the spot. Even though he’d managed to keep up a brave front while it was happening, the entire experience had eaten away at him for _weeks_ , until Dum Dum got involved one Sunday when they were over for dinner. After hammering away at Steve’s stubbornness for an hour or so, Dum Dum had eventually dragged it out of him, and tried to put Steve’s mind at ease. Still, the feelings of failure and despair had stuck around in his heart in ways he’d never want Tony to have to experience.

Taking a deep breath, Steve took Tony’s hand in his, and squeezed. “Some time alone might be good,” he admitted. “I’ll try to be in better spirits by the time you guys get back.”

“Hey, no,” Tony said. Warm fingers skated along Steve’s jaw, gently encouraging him to turn his head. Tony looked concerned. “You’re allowed to have a bad day, Steve. You know that, right?”

Steve nodded, and felt like crying. “Go out and have some fun together,” he managed after a moment. “I’m… I don’t think I can put on a convincingly happy front today.”

“So don’t,” Tony suggested. “If you’re having a rough time of it, or even if you only want a little time to yourself, just give me a heads up, okay? If anyone knows how exhausting it is playing pretend, it’s me, Steve. We’re stuck doing it often enough for the press, so the last thing I want is for you to feel like you have to do that for me and Peter. We love you, even when you’re having a bad day.”

“Okay.” Tony studied his face for a moment, and Steve felt almost as if he was being scanned by one of Tony’s diagnostic programs. “I don’t want to talk right now,” he added, feeling guilty as soon as the words left his mouth, but Tony only smiled, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Fair enough. Let me know if you change your mind.” Tony stood up, and tugged on Steve’s hand. “How ‘bout you be the one to tell Peter what he gets to do today?”

The bubbling up of love and appreciation and happiness that Tony was a part of his life was at odds with everything else Steve was feeling in the moment, the contrast making it almost _worse_ somehow. He had so much to be happy about, and grateful for, and instead of sucking it up and working through the pain, Steve had opted to be a sullen, cranky jerk over breakfast before stalking off to the bedroom in order to lose himself in the past.

“Sure,” Steve said, shoving everything down as far as he could manage before leaving the bedroom.

Peter was sprawled across the living room rug on his stomach, coloring absently while half-watching something involving baby animals playing together on the TV. As soon as he heard Steve coming, Peter grinned up at him. “Hi, daddy!”

“Hey, Pete,” Steve answered, settling down on the floor beside his son. “Guess what?”

“What?”

The little boy’s eyes were already wide with anticipation, and suddenly Steve’s smile no longer had to be forced into place. Tony wasn’t stupid, he knew how Peter was going to react over getting to have a day of science adventures, and had wanted Steve to be in a position to benefit from the collateral happiness. It left Steve feeling grateful once again that he was no longer dealing with everything all on his own.

“Tony and Bruce wanted to have an Adventure Day at the New York Hall of Science, but they’ve never done it before. I have to stay here and do some work, so I can’t go. Do you know anyone else who could help them out?”

With a gasp, Peter scrambled up to his feet, a huge smile on his face. “I know, I know,” he squeaked. “Tony, daddy taught me all about adventuring! Can I help them, daddy?”

Steve pretended to think it over for a second or two, then said, “You know what, that sounds perfect. What do you think, Tony?”

“I love this plan, it’s just crazy enough to work,” Tony agreed, stroking his beard. “How about you change into some adventuring clothes first, kiddo?”

Squealing with delight, Peter hurled himself at Steve, hugging him enthusiastically before scrambling off to his room to get changed. Still smiling, Steve let his head tip back so he could gaze up at Tony. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem.”

Once he was standing again, Steve pulled Tony into a hug, and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in the scent of Tony’s cologne. A kiss was pressed against his neck before they drifted apart again, the concern there waiting for him in Tony’s eyes. They didn’t talk about it, though, which was good considering Steve wasn’t sure what he would say.

After giving Steve a kiss on the cheek, Tony went to help Peter get ready, so that before too long Steve found himself doling out goodbye hugs and kisses, along with plenty of encouragement for them to have a good time together.

“I’ll send a text to let you know we got there,” Tony said before the door closed behind him.

Steve wandered over to the window, stared out into the sunshine of the beautiful day until he saw Tony drive past the building, and then he closed the blinds, pulled the curtains, and sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh. The apartment was almost eerily quiet in the aftermath of their departure, and Steve struggled to recall the last time he’d actually been there by himself for longer than fifteen minutes.

At first, he was tempted to call Tony and ask him to turn around so Steve could tag along, but the longer he mulled it over, the more he realized that Tony had been right. There was relief to be found in the silence, in simply sitting there, not having to worry about his facial expressions, or his tone of voice. No one was asking him questions, or having excited conversations that couldn’t quite hold his interest long enough for him to be able to participate, or demanding his help, or attention, or opinions.

Instead, he was completely free to wander back into the bedroom, unlock his trunk, and let himself feel however he wanted. Steve fished out items, and spreading them across the floor nearby, keeping sketchbooks stacked together, photos in a separate pile, and souvenirs in yet another.

There wasn’t any particular reason _why_ he should be feeling so down in the dumps. There hadn’t been any big confrontations, or nightmares, or recovered memories. Steve maintained a long list of dates in his mind, each tied to something or someone. Some were happy, like birthdays and anniversaries, but a great many were connected to less pleasurable experiences. None of them corresponded to that particular day, though, so he didn’t even have that as an excuse.

The resurgence of his depression was nothing to be ashamed of, and Tony obviously wasn’t going to hold anything against him, but Steve still felt as if he should be able to shake it off. Logically, Steve understood that everything was a process, and this was nothing to freak out about, was actually to be expected. Dr. Coulson had warned him that between moving Tony into the apartment, and the stress of tackling the press head on, he was pushing for too much, too soon.

“This isn’t a race, Steven,” Coulson had said, the sternness in his voice balanced with concern, “you can’t just sprint for the finish line, and call it a day.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve tried to remind himself that it was important to allow himself a full range of emotions, and not automatically treat the less pleasant ones as something to be shoved aside, or bottled up. It was his heart and mind’s way of telling him he needed to slow down, and pay attention. Steve knew that he’d been going at it pretty hard, maintaining a good sense of momentum, and now everything was settling down into something approaching normalcy. He’d made plenty of progress, and he needed to accept that one bad day wasn’t going to undo all of his hard work.

Since Tony had moved in, Steve had been sleeping better, which wasn’t too surprising. He’d always slept better when Tony was there, if only for the fact that when he wasn’t in the midst of a big project, Tony tried to keep a regular sleep schedule. Having someone else there to look at the time, and then start the whole ritual of heading to bed was helpful, and Steve tended to follow Tony’s lead even if he wasn’t tired.

Lying there, listening to the soft sound of Tony’s breathing in the darkness, or feeling his warmth in the bed beside him often led to Steve conking out without intending to. The nights they shed their clothing, and lost themselves to pleasure were even better for sleeping. Steve still had his bouts of insomnia off and on, but on the whole, he was getting the most regular sleep he’d had since enlisting in the Army, which was yet another sign of progress.

After a week or two, Tony living there stopped seeming like a novelty, and became more of a reality for each of them. They’d carefully divvied up chores and responsibilities. Tony had learned the all important rule of consulting the family calendar before making plans. Steve had come to terms with the understanding that there was more than one way to accomplish tasks, and that when the end results were the same, he needed to let Tony do things his own way without nitpicking.

That, more than anything, had been a struggle for him. Steve had a lot of experience in sharing close quarters, but even in the Army, he’d eventually found himself in charge of the people around him. If he didn’t like the way something was being done, he could bark an order, and that was that. As a result, not falling back into his Command voice the first time he found an empty milk carton in the fridge, or stubbed his toe on something Tony had left on the bedroom floor had been a surprising challenge.

Having the safety of Dr. Coulson’s office to vent his grievances as he adjusted to the new normal had been a gift, but they’d gotten to the point where having another autonomous adult sharing a space with him felt comfortable to Steve. Even better, Tony was relaxing into treating the place like _their_ home, instead of Steve and Peter’s home, and seeing it happen was kind of amazing.

At the same time they were all adjusting to living together, Steve had started to move forward on his plan to engage the media. As predicted, Pepper had assigned him his very own PR person, and although he’d been skeptical at first, Steve had to admit she was great at her job.

“Ugh, you’re even more disgustingly hot in person,” Darcy Lewis had said when Steve answered the door the first time they’d met.

He hadn’t thought it very professional at the time, but by the end of their meeting, Darcy had grown on Steve. She’d listened attentively to his speech as to why he was bothering to participate in the media circus, eyes going all wide as he told her about Jake. When he was done, Darcy had said, “Aww,” and then called him a cinnamon roll for reasons he couldn’t begin to comprehend, but she had clearly taken his goals to heart.

She went through all the correspondence he’d received from the media, most of which she put in the, “Over my dead body,” category, and lined up the interview and photoshoot for _Skin Deep_. Darcy had nixxed the idea of having the entire shop participate for the second go around, explaining that an exclusive with Steve was better if he really wanted to delve into the PTSD.

By the end of their meeting, Steve happily promised her he’d refrain from setting up any social media accounts, agreed to keep his mind open over the idea of doing something for TV, then had introduced Darcy to Clint, and let them hash out who had control of what, while Steve hid in the office.

Now that he was taking a moment to sit quietly with himself, Steve had no confusion over why the hell he was so emotionally exhausted. Having Darcy as a resource, and letting her take charge of the press was a relief, but it was still stressful as hell, especially leading up to the interview. Being so open about his PTSD was great in theory, but he’d woken the morning of the big day so nervous and anxious that he’d wanted to throw up.

Steve dug out his two issues of _Skin Deep_ , and placed them side by side before flipping through the pages. It was strange seeing himself in the original photoshoot, not because he looked like he’d aged in any significant way, but because everything down to the part in his hair screamed _military_. The Steve in those photographs had a hardness in his eyes, a tightness to his jaw, a rigidity to his posture. He wore his civilian clothes as if he was still in uniform, right down to the boots on his feet.

Reading the original article, and looking over the photographs, Steve was in a position to actually _see_ how much pain he had been in at the time, which was a bit surreal. Natasha, Clint, and Bucky all had ink showing in their photographs, but the majority of Steve’s artwork was covered by his clothing. Part of his left forearm was visible in a few shots, but other than that, you wouldn’t have known he even had tattoos.

There was no mention of Peter, or anything personal for that matter, while the rest of his group talked openly and passionately about their lives, and the art of tattooing. In a lot of ways, Steve felt like he could have been easily replaced with a cardboard cutout stand-in, and the results would have been the same. It was Captain Rogers, through and through, the man beneath the facade nowhere to be seen.

Unsurprisingly, the first time around they'd opted for Natasha to be featured on the cover, but the latest issue was all Steve. They had him stripped to the waist, wearing a low-riding pair of Army fatigues, and standing at parade rest. Anyone walking past a magazine rack would be able to spot Tony’s name standing out starkly against his skin, and there was something thrilling to be found there.

Inside, there were more photos, closeups of his work, and it was equal parts amazing and terrifying to see them spread across the glossy pages of a magazine. Steve hadn’t gone into much detail as to what his artwork represented, only that it corresponded with some of the most traumatic moments in his life. Confessing that he’d coped with his PTSD by covering himself in self-made monuments to his own trauma was one thing, letting people know the specifics was something else entirely.

They’d taken several photos of his left arm, turned them into a two page spread. A close up showing the tendrils of inky smoke that curled down and around Steve’s wrist. Another was taken from farther away, Steve’s arm straight down, so you could see the way color was introduced in stages. The reds and golds of flames flowed through the smoke, twisting up and into everything else. A horizon line was almost indistinguishable within the chaos, clear blue sky visible in snatches above, the sun appearing at the top of his shoulder. The sky was almost entirely blocked out by colorful birds taking flight up and around Steve’s arm. Each represented someone killed in action that day, making their way skyward, feathers singed by the flames they sought to escape.

In one of the photos, he had his hands laced behind his head, and they’d gotten in close on the inside of his arm, all the tender places usually held flush against his body, and hidden beneath fabric. Feathers, smoke, and fire curled inward over crushed and scattered flowers. It was beautiful, but if you let your eyes lose focus, it looked unmistakingly like something exploding outward, flower petals taking on the appearance of shrapnel, and bullets.

Beneath the photos was a pull quote from the interview.

_“I had just about every symptom of PTSD you could imagine. The rest of my unit was in bad shape after leaving the Army, too, but they got help, got better, so you’d think I’d make the connection, right? Instead, I managed to convince myself that admitting anything was wrong was the worst possible thing I could do. And it almost cost me everything.”_

In addition to Darcy being there, Tony had been in attendance throughout the interview and the photoshoot as moral support, and Steve was glad to have brought him along. His very favorite photo wasn’t included until the end of the article, and had been Darcy’s idea. Tony was there in one of his fancy suits, hands shoved in his pockets, tinted sunglasses on, and his chin tilted somewhat defiantly at the camera. Steve was standing beside him, left arm curled around Tony’s shoulders, still without his shirt on, Tony’s name being the only tattoo not partially obscured by the man himself. Steve was looking at Tony, rather than the camera, and anyone could see the open adoration written across his face.

Steve smiled down at the magazine, some of the heartache easing away. The man they’d interviewed the first time around would never have believed what was waiting for him down the line. The very idea of Tony, or even the suggestion of talking about his tattoos, or the traumas they represented, would have been too much for that older version of Steve to comprehend.

With a somewhat sad smile, Steve set the magazines aside, and stared at all the stuff piled around him. The old Steve Rogers had spent many a late night with the trunk’s contents. Sometimes, he simply wanted to see the faces of departed friends, but more often than not, Steve dug into his keepsakes from the past as some bizarre form of penance.

As he sat there, Steve wondered what Richard would think of it all, if he was still alive. It was hard to imagine him being upset that Steve was finally trying to move on. Steve was positive Richard would have liked Tony, would wholeheartedly approve of the two of them finding some happiness together. Peter had two parents again, Steve was healthier, and all of that was good, but Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t feel guilty about it all, as if he’d somehow stolen the happily ever after Richard was meant to have with Mary.

With a shaking hand, Steve reached back into the trunk, and slowly gathered up the pieces of a broken easel, examining them one by one before placing them on the bed.

“Since you’ll actually have time to paint now,” Richard had said after Steve had opened the gift. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Good, now you have no excuses. Get to work,” Richard had said, “I need a Steve Rogers original for the house before you become a famous artist.”

All of Steve’s early attempts were disasters, mostly because he didn’t trust himself to try anything more complicated than a still life, not when blood and sand were waiting for him whenever he closed his eyes. At least he was painting again.

The day Ben Parker showed up to tell Steve that Richard was dead, he’d been in the middle of trying something more original. It had been going well, and he was actually relaxed, and having a good afternoon before he answered the door.

Ben hadn’t asked to come upstairs, and Steve hadn’t offered, too shocked by the news to do more than stand there, holding onto the doorframe to keep himself upright, feeling sick.

“Did you know they were C.I.A.?” Ben had asked, an undercurrent of anger in his voice.

“No,” Steve managed, “I thought they were done with taking risks.”

Thankfully, Ben had believed Steve, and then said something about needing to get back to May and Peter so he could begin making funeral arrangements. Steve had watched him go, the numbness keeping him safe and secure right up until Steve’s anger finally made an appearance, and got the best of him.

One minute, he’d been standing in his living room staring at the canvas as if he’d never seen it before, the next he’d lashed out, knocking over the easel, splattering paint everywhere. Steve had grabbed the thing by its legs, smashing it against the floor until there was nothing left but pieces. He was almost positive he’d been screaming while this was taking place, but either way the racket had to be ungodly, because Natasha had come running upstairs from the shop right about when Steve punched a hole in the wall.

Because he was who he was, later, when he was calmer, Steve had gathered up all of the broken pieces of the easel, keeping them even though there was no point. It was too broken to ever be put back together again, but the idea of throwing Richard’s gift away had always left him sick with despair.

Sucking in a shaking breath, Steve dragged his fingers across splintered wood, and came to a decision. He headed for the kitchen, grabbed a garbage bag from under the sink, and then marched back into the bedroom. Steve’s hands were shaking when he gathered up the remains of the easel, and placed them carefully in the bottom of the garbage bag. Then he needed to sit down, his legs too shaky to support his weight any longer.

“Throwing this out doesn’t mean I don’t still love you, and miss you,” Steve told the empty room, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I’ll probably miss you every day for the rest of my life. All of you. But I can’t… I have to do things differently now.”

Taking a moment to psych himself up, Steve went through the rest of what he’d kept packed in his trunk, and before too long, the garbage bag was full. All of the photos he kept, along with some of his sketchbooks, and the various medals and ribbons that went with his uniform. Steve tore one of the drawings of Anderson loose from a sketchbook, and then threw the rest away. A scrap of blood stained fabric he’d cut off of his uniform, the boots he’d worn the day Bucky had lost his arm, a notebook full of letters he’d never sent to Peggy.

By the time he was finished, Steve was no longer shaking, and felt calmer, even if the exhaustion was overwhelming. His face was wet with tears, and the sadness was still sitting heavily in his chest, but it felt less dangerous than it had earlier in the day.

Steve’s phone vibrated, and he fished it out of his pocket, smiling to find a photo of Peter and Tony mugging for the camera waiting for him, along with a simple message.

_Love you._

After replying in kind, Steve cleaned up the mess he’d made in the bedroom, and opted to leave the garbage bag sitting in front of the closet, wanting to give Tony a chance to see what it contained before he threw it all away. And because he was allowed to, once this was done, Steve picked up his favorite photo of Richard, curled up in bed, and had a good long cry.

He must have fallen asleep like that, because the next thing he knew, Tony’s hand was on his shoulder, and he was being carefully shaken awake. Steve jerked in response, glancing at the clock before staring blearily at Tony. It was almost five thirty.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony said, taking a step backwards. “You’ve been doing so good that I didn’t want you to nap too long, and fuck up your sleep schedule.”

“No, s’fine,” Steve swore, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I made an executive decision about dinner,” Tony said, sounding slightly off, “since you didn’t respond to my text messages.”

As the fog of sleep finally lifted, Steve realized Tony was staring down at the photo of Richard, which was still on the bed beside Steve. It was of the two of them together, actually, and had been taken a couple hours after they’d wrapped up a particularly tricky mission, which meant they had all been a bit punchy.

Steve had an arm around Richard, who had a hand curled around the back of Steve’s neck, and a smart-ass grin slapped on his face as he pointed to Clint, who was off camera. They’d all been shooting the shit together, but only Steve and Richard had made it into the photograph, and unlike most taken of him at that time in his life, Steve was smiling, actually looked happy.

“That was taken about a year after I met Richard,” Steve said, handing over the photo. To his surprise, Tony sat down heavily on the bed beside him. “What’s wrong?”

After what felt like an eternity, Tony finally tore his eyes away from the photograph, and looked at Steve. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Steve asked, his heart suddenly kicking into overdrive. Tony gave him a pointed look, then held up the photo as if that explained everything. “What?”

“Steve…” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, took a deep breath, and tried again, his expression much softer this time. “Were you ever planning on telling me that you were in love with Richard Parker?”

Panic hit him hard, along with despair, and confusion, prompting Steve to sit up straighter, and turn on the bedroom light. “What? No, I’m in love with _you_ , Tony.”

“I know you are, Steve,” Tony said, smiling reassuringly. “We didn’t even know each other back then, right? It’s fine, you just… You never mentioned it, and—”

“Daddies, come _on_ ,” Peter shouted from the other room, “I wanna have dinner!”

Tony’s eyes went wide, and Steve found himself momentarily forgetting the surreal conversation they were having. “That counts,” he said, smiling at Tony.

“Technically he didn’t call me—”

Steve cut Tony off with an excited kiss, said, “Still counts,” and scrambled out of the bed, leaving Tony to follow. Peter was standing on his chair at the kitchen table, looking about ready to rip into the bags of takeout that Tony had left there.

“Hi daddy,” he said innocently when he saw Steve. Immediately, he sat back down in his chair, a huge smile on his face. “I made robots out of legos!”

“Lego robots? That sounds like a good Adventure Day, Pete. Nice job.” He mussed up Peter’s hair, and grabbed plates, stomach grumbling at the smell of food.

Tony wandered into the kitchen, looking a bit sheepish, and a lot confused. “Did you wash your hands?” Peter groaned. “You know the rules, go give them a wash.”

As soon as Peter was scrambling out of the room, Tony poked Steve in the side. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I loved Richard,” Steve said, switching to French. “I looked up to him, and trusted him. I would have done anything for him, and he would have done the same for me.”

Tony’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, an obvious attempt at keeping quiet. Steve cupped the sides of Tony’s face, and stared down into his beautiful brown eyes. “Tony, I was _never_ in love with Richard. I had a bit of hero worship going on, that’s for sure. Whatever you think you saw in that photo, I promise you it wasn’t romantic love. Richard took me under his wing after we met, and made me his honorary little brother. Awful as it sounds, I was closer to him than Ben was, but that happens sometimes when you serve with someone.”

For a long, awful moment, Steve was worried Tony thought he was lying, but then he exhaled in a rush, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. Seeing that photo—”

“I promise, I would have told you something that big,” Steve said, and whatever tension Tony was still carrying seemed to ease away at this. “While you were out, I decided… There’s a lot of my past I want to hold on to, but there’s plenty I’m ready to let go of. Can we talk about it after Peter goes to bed?”

Tony smiled, and squeezed Steve’s arm. “Absolutely. Sorry, I didn’t… I hope you don’t…”

Steve tried to imagine how he would feel if he came home to find Tony curled up in bed with an old photo of himself and another guy. “I’d probably be at the gym attempting to punch my way back to calmness if our roles were reversed, Tony, so please don’t feel bad.”

Peter came running back in, pausing to hug Steve’s legs before hopping back up in his seat.

“So, you would have been jealous?” Tony asked in French, a strange sort of pleased look on his face.

“Absolutely,” Steve answered, wondering why he was smiling. Maybe it was because the entire conversation was the precise sort of ridiculous he needed after an emotional afternoon.

“Because you love me, and want me all to yourself.”

Steve shook his head, but his smile was still firmly in place. “Every last inch of you, Tony,” he said. “All mine. I’m not good at sharing.”

Tony stepped closer, mouth open, but before he could say anything, Peter announced, “I’m gonna learn French,” his tiny face scrunched up in determination.

Just like that, Steve was laughing, and had a hard time stopping, even when Peter pouted around his chicken nuggets and insisted it wasn’t funny. Yes, the sadness was still there, and Richard’s absence was as painful as ever, but it all felt manageable in way it hadn’t earlier in the day.

Peter set to asking for the French words for everything around him, and so Tony and Steve spent most of their dinner answering questions, Tony going so far as to promise to make flashcards, and begin teaching Peter properly, and it was good. It was better than good, it was _everything_.

Later, after Peter was in bed, he and Tony would talk. He’d let Tony dig through the parts of his past he was ready to let go of, and Steve would likely cry again, but that was good, too. After all, it wasn’t a race, it was the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I would have replied to all of your comments by now, but I am a hot freaking mess at the moment. Everything is cool, but life sort of did it's thing to me this week, so I'm frantically posting Ch.32, and then I have to run out the door, and so there aren't even logical notes happening. Ahh! But, replies are coming as soon as I'm home again. If this installment of our soap opera has technical errors, they're all on me being all over the place this week. XD
> 
> Meanwhile, be sure to jump onto tumblr and check out http://illbetherestonyfest.tumblr.com/ a Steve/Tony prompt fest to celebrate all the Steves and all the Tonys across the Marvel multiverse! :D


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Bucky sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage...

Despite being stone cold sober, Tony was actually having fun while in a bar, miraculously not even thinking about the fantastic buzz he could be enjoying if he’d only make an exception to said sobriety. It helped not being the only sober soul amongst a throng of happy go lucky drunks; Bruce, Steve, and Natasha were also abstaining, which was probably good, since that left more booze for the crazy Vikings.

“I return with shots, my friends,” Thor announced triumphantly, his voice cutting easily through the racket of the crowded bar. A cheer went up as Thor handed out the shots, brow furrowing. “Where has Hawkeye gone? We cannot toast without him.”

“Bathroom,” Bucky answered, tipping back what was left of his beer.

Steve none too subtly slid a glass of water toward his brother, which prompted Bucky to roll his eyes aggressively. Making a big show of it, he drained the glass in one go, then gave a little bow before hooking an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Stevie.”

Bucky had that sort of ‘drunk enough to want to tell everyone how much I love them’ look in full effect. Of course, Bucky was in a good mood, and was already prone to telling people they mattered to him even when sober, so that wasn’t too surprising. In fact, anyone within arm’s reach had been getting pulled into half-hugs before the first round had even showed up.

At the moment though, he had his head on Steve’s shoulder, one arm around his waist, and the other around Sam. “You’re a good brother,” Bucky was all but shouting.

“So are you, Buck,” Steve answered, smiling indulgently.

Steve caught Tony’s eye from across the table they were all standing around, expression shifting subtly, but enough to make Tony’s stomach swoop happily. They were still staring at each other like lovesick goons when the bar’s sound system gave a little indignant squawk, the music cutting off abruptly, which meant Steve easily caught the mischievous smile Tony had to smother.

Steve was in the midst of mouthing, “What did you do?” when Clint’s voice came over the bar’s speakers, and the question answered itself.

“Check, check one, sibilance, sibilance.”

A little cheer went up from the table, while Bucky performed some rather amazing facial acrobatics, confusion sliding quickly into what looked suspiciously like abject horror.

“Are you shitting me?” He let go of Sam and Steve, and started craning his neck, shifting around until he finally spotted Clint. “How is this happening? This ain't even a—”

“Alright, how's everyone doing tonight?” Clint asked, his voice coming in loud and clear through the bar’s speakers. A loud cheer went through the bar in response. “Really? That’s all you got?” This time the cheer was much louder, Thor’s voice still somehow loudest of all.

Their group had crowded around Bucky, Steve’s hands planted firmly on his brother’s shoulders to keep him from going anywhere. Steve might not have been in on the plan, but he seemed to have figured out what was coming next, and was wearing a shiteating grin as he glanced over at Tony, face lit up with excitement. Bucky, on the other hand, had his hands over his face, and was probably groaning under the noise of the crowd.

“Oh yeah, this’ll work just fine,” Clint announced. He waved his phone in the air over his head, then brought it closer to his mouth again, pointing a finger in their direction. “Thanks for the technical assist, Tony. This is great!”

Bucky pulled his hands away from his face, and glared. “Yeah, _thanks_ , Tony. I thought we were friends.”

“I didn’t have a choice, the guy was so full of love it was coming out his ears.” Bucky snatched up the basket their order of fries had come in, and chucked it at Tony, frowning theatrically when Natasha snatched it out of the air and set it back down on the table. “Aww, so close.”

“I’ll remember this,” Bucky threatened, his grumpy cat impression doing little to phase Natasha.

“Of course you will,” Natasha replied sweetly. She pulled out her phone, aimed it at Bucky, and hit record. “So will I. Bruce, can you cover Clint?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Bruce answered, and then he had a phone out, as well.

“I hate all of you,” Bucky shouted, but he was fighting a smile.

“So, you're probably wondering why I'm hijacking your evening.” Clint grabbed a chair from a nearby table, dragged it closer, and then hopped onto it, striking a dramatic pose. “Thing is, I'm getting married next week!”

Another cheer went up, although there were some jeers in the mix, as well. Clint waved his hands, and the noise died down a little bit, someone’s cry of, “Tough break, bro,” coming through loud and clear.

“Now now, don’t be rude,” Clint chided. “I don’t know what shitty life choices you made, man, but _I’m_ marrying my best friend, so I’m excited as hell.”

A chorus of _awws_ was heard, and when Tony glanced Steve’s way, he found he was already being watched, that soft, adoring expression back on Steve’s face. Bucky had a bit of that going on himself, the indignation long gone.

“Been thinking a lot about when we first met,” Clint continued. “We were in love a long time even before I figured out that’s what it was, and then… Well, like I said, best friends. Didn’t want to risk losing the best thing that’d ever happened to me trying for something _more_ , you know?”

There were some understanding noises from the crowd, and Bucky looked a little bit like he wanted to cry. He was leaning back against Steve, a sappy smile stretched across his face as he watched Clint.

“Anyway, point is, we’ve been inseparable for years, so the whole marriage thing is either redundant as hell, or long overdue,” Clint continued, smile lighting up his face. “M’ doing the whole bachelor party thing tonight, and I’ve had enough to drink that I’m ready to make an ass of myself, so... This song goes out to the love of my fucking life!”

As the bar gave another cheer, the music started up, and Bucky wailed, “Of _course_ , ‘cause this song is the worst!”

“Once upon a time, I had to keep loving you under wraps, so now you have to deal with this cheesy ass ballad. Payback’s a bitch,” Clint said in a rush before he started singing. “ _Oh I can't fight this feeling any longer, and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow. What started out as friendship, has grown stronger, I only wish I had the strength to let it show…_ ”

Tony couldn’t help but laugh, partly from the ridiculous level of sincerity Clint wore on his face, but mostly because of Bucky’s expression. He had both hands fisted in his hair, and was groaning theatrically, even as he smiled. Everyone was reaching around Steve in order to pat Bucky’s back, or shoulder, or squeeze his arm, the table cheering as Clint got to the chorus.

“ _And I can't fight this feeling anymore. I've forgotten what I started fighting for. It's time to bring this ship into the shore, and throw away the oars, forever._ ”

By the time Clint got to the end of the power ballad, more than half the bar was singing along, including Bucky. Tony watched Clint receive multiple high fives, slaps on the back, and even a free drink as he hopped off of his chair, and made his way through the bar in order to get back to their group. Heads turned to follow his progress, so plenty of people were watching when he finally managed to get back to Bucky.

Wasting no time, Clint shoved his drink at Sam, grabbed Bucky by the front of his shirt, and dragged him into an enthusiastically filthy kiss. Sadly, a few people in the crowd seemed disturbed by this turn of events, but mostly the vibe in the room remained supportive, a little cheer going up as they kissed. Tony wasn’t surprised in the least to find that Steve was taking note of anyone reacting negatively; he’d probably keep tabs on them for the rest of the evening, just in case.

“You had to pick _that_ song?” Bucky griped, the sappy smile on his face ruining the effect.

Tony watched them kiss again—a short, sweet press of lips—jumping when Natasha’s voice was suddenly in his ear. “You’re not planning on serenading Steve, are you?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Please?” Darcy whined, sucking noisily from her straw. Tony gave her an incredulous look, prompting her to lift one shoulder in a shrug. “What? It’d blow up YouTube.”

“Why are you here again?” Tony asked.

Darcy smiled. “Clint adopted me, remember?”

“She’s my protégé,” Clint chimed in. “Gonna teach her to shoot, and everything.”

The face Steve made over this announcement was priceless, and unmistakingly disapproving, but before he could weigh in on the matter, Thor reminded everyone of their neglected shots, and called for a round of toasts.

“Think I have a chance in hell of skipping the bachelor party when we get married?” Steve asked, sidling up to Tony.

“Start laying the groundwork now, and you might have a chance,” Tony answered. It was probably ridiculous to have a racing heart, and a stupid smile on his face just from Steve using the word _married_ , but that was the reality of the situation. “Better yet, get Nat on your side.”

Natasha chose that moment to speak up. “Is there something you've neglected to tell me?”

“No,” Tony swore, prompting her to arch an eyebrow. “We’re not engaged! Well, not exactly.”

“More like engaged to be engaged,” Steve clarified.

“You two are ridiculous,” Sam said, smiling and gesturing toward Steve and Tony with his glass. “I hope you realize there’s already a betting pool over how long it’ll be before you two get the _normal_ sort of engaged.”

“I disavow any knowledge of a betting pool,” Steve deadpanned.

“It would probably be cheating to encourage you not to wait longer than Thanksgiving,” Sam said, prompting Natasha to narrow her eyes. “Pretend I didn’t say anything,” he added in a rush, laughing when she swatted playfully at his shoulder.

Tony smiled shyly up at Steve, and wondered how accurate Sam’s prediction was. After all, they’d gotten to the point where the initial novelty of living together had worn off, and it simply felt blissfully normal, instead. That absolutely wasn’t a problem, as far as Tony was concerned. In fact, he was sort of in love with the normalcy they’d all built together.

There was nothing boring about waking up and falling asleep next to Steve. Having actual household responsibilities was enjoyable once he got past his fear of shrinking all of their clothing, or setting the place on fire. There was something embarrassingly fulfilling about being able to make more than grilled cheese or pancakes, or knowing where everything belonged in the cabinets, and when trash day was. Making Peter’s lunches for him during the week meant being able to slip a note in his bag, and sharing laundry duty meant he knew where to look when Peter freaked out about not being able to find his favorite shirt.

Sure, his productivity at SI had taken a dip, but Tony had a hard time caring. Staying late to keep working would have meant missing out on having dinner with his family, and Tony wasn’t willing to give that up. Once the workshop was moved, he’d step up his game, but until then, he wasn’t missing dinner unless there was an emergency.

Eating breakfast and getting out the door was hectic during the week, even though Steve’s commute was a flight of stairs. Half the time it was Tony’s fault for putting them behind schedule by getting fresh with Steve in the shower, but whatever, Steve was an enthusiastic supporter of Tony’s approach to prioritizing, so it wasn’t a problem.

Unless it was the weekend, they usually had lunch separately, so dinner was typically the meal during which everyone talked about their day, and caught each other up. Even though Tony had enjoyed dinner with them countless times leading up to the change in living arrangements, having dinner together after moving in was a different thing entirely.

Tony cooked three nights a week, and Steve covered the rest. The idea was for one or the other of them to have some time to unwind alone, or chill out with Peter, but more often than not, they both wound up in the kitchen together, chopping, sauteing, and touching each other as much as possible. A kiss pressed to the nape of Tony’s neck as he stirred something on the stove, trailing his hands across Steve’s shoulders on the way to the fridge, leaning against each other as they peeled potatoes.

When it came time to eat, phones were out of sight, the TV was off, all books and toys were set aside, and the focus was entirely on each other. Tony _loved_ every minute of it. They got to hear about Gwen, and Peter’s other friends, and Steve told them about clients, and anything else age appropriate he could share about his day. Tony went on nerd tirades, half the stuff going over their heads, but instead of ignoring him or tolerating the rambling, Steve and Peter asked questions, and actually listened.

No matter what happened during the day, by the time dinner wrapped up, Tony was in a good mood. It was exactly the sort of thing he’d always imagined loving families must do, but had never experienced first hand when growing up. Stark family dinners had always happened at a too large table in an echoey dining room, and involved a good bit of stilted conversation mixed with uncomfortable silences, if they were lucky. 

It was strange having a designated seat at Steve’s parents’ table, and stranger still to find himself feeling relaxed, and as if he _belonged_ in that household. Tony hadn’t thought about it much at first, but the longer they were together, the more he became convinced he’d won some sort of jackpot where the payoff was the family of his dreams. He’d gone from a party of one to having a partner, a son, brothers, _five_ fathers, a de facto sister, and a whole new circle of friends; Tony wanted to shower them with criminally expensive gifts for letting him be part of it all.

For his part, Tony didn’t bring anything to the table as far as extended family went, which wasn’t something he had expected to bother him. And yet, time and again, he found himself trying to imagine how introductions would have gone if his parents were still alive. Tony was positive his mom would have been happy for him, and approved of Steve wholeheartedly. Sometimes he indulged in pointless daydreams where his mother taught Peter to play piano, as she’d done with him, and Tony’s heart would ache terribly, but more often than not, the idea of introducing anyone to Howard made Tony grateful his new family would never meet his birth family.

“What has you looking all serious?” Steve asked, hand stroking against the small of Tony’s back.

“Hm? Oh, ah… Nothing, really. All the wedding stuff has me thinking about what ifs. If it weren’t for the whole vehement disapproval of same sex relationships, I’m pretty sure Howard would have liked you, which kind of makes my head hurt.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Steve said, brow furrowing.

“Try not to waste too much brainpower on it,” Tony suggested, ducking his head. “He’s dead, so it doesn’t really matter. Besides, I got a family upgrade, so it’s a win win.”

Steve studied his face for a moment, then pulled Tony closer, and squeezed him tight, lips brushing against Tony’s forehead. “My ma would’ve loved you as much as my dads do.“

A chorus of boos from the table dragged them out of their little pocket of seriousness. “Come on, can you blame me?” Bucky asked, an arm draped around Clint’s shoulders.

“You’ll have time enough on your honeymoon,” Thor argued. “Stay for another round, at least.”

“I’m too good to pass up, Thor, handle it,” Clint said, smiling smugly. “Keep drinking in our honor if you want, but I’m dragging Buck home while we can still walk without assistance.”

“I can give you a ride,” Steve offered, which was great, since it meant they could leave, but also a tad awkward, considering Bucky and Clint almost immediately started making out in the backseat like a couple of horny teenagers.

By the time they got home, Tony couldn’t decide if he was turned on, or scarred for life. “If you think that’s bad, try living with them,” Steve suggested.

“We’re not much better,” Tony said, thinking of what had happened in the bathroom the last time they’d been in a bar together. “Speaking of which… shall we take advantage of having the place to ourselves?”

Later, when they were tangled together in the bed, Steve propped himself up on an elbow, and stroked Tony’s chest, eyes darting as he looked around the room. “We’ve spent so much time working with the simulation that I can’t stop seeing what this place is going to look like when it’s all said and done. Seems almost strange that it hasn’t happened already.”

“Here’s hoping the lovebirds don’t mind being neighbors.”

“I hope you’re joking,” Steve said, arching an eyebrow. “Clint and Bucky love you. They’d be excited to move in next door even if someone _wasn’t_ buying them an entire building, and paying to have it remodeled to their specifications.”

Tony grinned, and nudged Steve with his knee. “Don’t worry, I know they love me,” he said. “Know how much _you_ love me, too. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve said, voice cracking before his lips were against Tony’s, the kiss urgent, and possessive. One led to another, then another after that, the need for sleep suddenly forgotten as they lost themselves to pleasure.

And it was odd, but as each day leading up to the wedding passed, a sense of anticipation and impatience seemed to build up inside of Tony’s chest. He was pretty sure Steve felt the same way, as if Bucky and Clint’s big day was the start of something new and exciting for all of them. Even Peter picked up on the vibe, and started regularly asking Tony how many hours it was before his uncles got married.

As a result, the week seemed to simultaneously pass excruciatingly slowly, and all in a rush. One minute they were sharing a Sunday dinner with the Dad Squad, talking over the details for the thousandth time, and the next Tony was helping Peter get into his suit, which wasn’t easy considering how squirmy Peter was when excited.

“Lucky’s is velcro,” Peter explained helpfully while watching Tony redo Steve’s bowtie.

“Lucky’s smart,” Steve said. He settled his hands onto Tony’s hips, and smiled. “I should see if he’ll let me borrow it when he’s done.”

Peter was very much onboard with the idea, and promised to ask on Steve’s behalf after the wedding photographs were taken.

“You’re practically glowing with happiness, in case you were wondering,” Tony felt the need to point out. It was true, too. Steve was all smiles, and sparkling eyes, appearing surprisingly at ease in the suit Tony had convinced him to buy for the wedding. “Also, it’s going to be tough to keep my hands off of you today.”

“Likewise,” Steve said, reaching lower to give Tony’s ass a squeeze before they headed out the door. “I love it when you wear vests.”

“Yeah? Note to self.”

Somehow, they managed to get to Steve’s parents’ house without traumatizing Peter with affection, or getting in an accident because of staring at each other instead of the road. Even though they were early, it was tough finding parking, and the backyard was already filling up. Almost immediately, their trio was broken up, Peter running off to find Lucky, while Steve was dragged off into the kitchen by Dum Dum.

Tony was in the process of adding their gift to the table that had been set up in the living room when he spotted Bucky tucked into a corner, peering out the window. “Everything okay?”

Bucky jumped, which was worrying all on his own, considering he wasn’t the kind of guy you could sneak up on normally. That combined with the guilty expression on his face when he looked over his shoulder was concerning.

“Yeah, I think so. Dunno, yet.” Bucky nodded his head toward the window, and Tony joined him, peering between the blinds. Clint was in the backyard, deep in conversation with some guy Tony had never seen before. “That’s his brother, Barney.”

“I didn’t realize Clint had a brother,” Tony said, taking another look. They were wearing almost identical serious expressions, but it didn’t appear as if the two were arguing or anything.

“He’s FBI, lives in DC,” Bucky answered absently. “We haven’t seen him in a couple years. Didn’t know if he’d come to the wedding, actually. He, ah, sorta said some shit when he found out his little brother was sleeping with a guy. Apologized later, but… It stuck with Clint, you know?”

“Showing up is a good sign though, right?”

Bucky nodded, and stepped away from the window, although it was obvious he wanted to keep an eye on the two brothers. “Yeah, you’re right. Still wanna run out there and make sure Barney doesn’t need a punch in the nose, though.”

“Send him a text to see if he needs backup, but maybe avoid punching family until after you two officially tie the knot, okay?”

To Tony’s surprise, Bucky burst out laughing at this, and pulled him into a hug. “Sorry, I’m kinda all over the place. I can’t believe it’s finally fuckin’ happening!”

“Well, congratulations in advance,” Tony said, returning the hug. “And, um, you two might want to take a look at our gift before heading off to your honeymoon. It’s the red and gold box. Has an awesome Peter-made card attached, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, grinning. “Today’s about a thousand times happier ‘cause of you, Tony.”

“What’d I do?” Tony asked, genuinely confused.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment. “You gave my brother back to me,” he explained, eyes going bright with tears. “Steve’s worked his ass off, so don’t think I’m trying to give you the credit for all that, but… Tony, _you’re_ the reason he turned shit around the way he did. I’ve never seen him so happy, not even when we were kids.”

Tony smiled, heart tripping happily in his chest. “He’s come a long way, hasn’t he?”

“So have you,” Bucky said, giving Tony a little shake. “Anyway, after all those years of worrying about him, it’s the best kinda crazy being able to know he’s gonna be okay. He’s got you, and finally stopped actin’ like he doesn’t deserve to be Peter’s dad. Best gift ever, as far as I’m concerned.”

That Bucky obviously meant every word made it even better.

When Clint made an appearance, Tony excused himself, and went to see if there was anything he could do to help. Steve’s family was handling feeding everyone, and the entire house smelled amazing, even if the kitchen was in total chaos as a result. Tony took a moment to admire a now jacketless Steve rushing around in an apron, helping Dum Dum get the appetizers finished up, then let Jaques put him to work as an usher.

There wasn’t exactly arranged seating. In fact, Clint had opted to skip having an aisle altogether, claiming it was played out. This also meant there was no traditional split where families sat on opposite sides, which Tony was definitely a fan of. If he and Steve had attempted something along those lines, there’d be a lot of room on Tony’s side of the aisle.

The backyard looked festive, chairs spread out in a semi circle, flowers and lights hanging in the trees, more food already set out on long tables. There were other, less typical decorations, like the used archery and gun range targets hung up here and there. Someone had put together a large collection of photos of the happy couple, a good number of them taken back when they’d all been in the Army together.

When Steve got it into his head to start cleaning out some of his less heartwarming keepsakes, they’d spent a couple hours going through his collection of photographs, so some of them Tony already recognized. Still, it was sort of surreal seeing a baby faced Bucky Barnes with two flesh and blood arms wrapped around an equally young Clint, the two of them making kissy faces for the camera while a very serious Steve was visible behind them, deadpanning for the camera with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Luckily, a new pair of familiar faces made an appearance, and Tony was able to drag his thoughts away from calculating how many years Steve had been shouldering the weight of the world.

“I promise, no drama this time around,” Rhodey said, slapping Tony on the back as they hugged each other. “Should I apologize to Steve’s folks for the last time we were here, or just pretend it never happened?”

“Let’s play pretend,” Tony suggested, wrapping Pepper up in a hug next. “Steve already let everyone know we’re starting fresh with all of that, so… You look beautiful, by the way. Good to see you both.”

Pepper smiled, and brushed her hands across Tony’s chest, smoothing out his lapels. “Thank you, Tony,” she said, kissing his cheek. “You’re looking well, yourself. Have you told them about you know what yet?”

“Nope, we opted to wrap up the paperwork and keys, and left it with the other gifts,” Tony said, excitement bubbling up again. “Did I send you the latest designs?”

“Yes, unless you’ve changed anything in the last twenty-four hours,” Pepper teased.

She and Rhodey had been incredibly encouraging and supportive when Tony announced his plan to buy up most of Steve’s block, and while he assumed some of that was from guilt, the rest of it seemed entirely genuine. Pepper had worked her magic, which meant that construction for the residences could begin whenever Tony and Steve gave the go ahead, which they’d do once Clint and Bucky decided on a layout for their new house.

Thor and Steve had met several times to discuss expanding the businesses, but that was also on hold until after Clint and Bucky knew what their gift was. Steve didn’t want to make any drastic changes to the business without offering Natasha and Clint the option to weigh in on the direction of things. In fact, he was hoping to formalize a partnership between the three of them, so each of his friends would also own a share of SHIELD Tattoo.

“Nope, no changes,” Tony said, glancing at his watch. “Okay, let me do this usher thing, then I have to make sure Peter’s suit is still in one piece.”

Pepper took Rhodey’s arm, and Tony managed to resist asking them when _they_ were planning on getting hitched, now that their status as a couple had been fully established. Rhodey must have picked up his gleeful brainwaves, though, because he shook his head, and gave Tony’s shoulder a shove, even though he was fighting off a smile the entire time.

“Come on, man, I’m allowed to be happy for you two,” Tony complained, dodging the next shove. “I’ve been waiting _years_ for you to ask her out.”

Pepper smiled. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

“That’s the theme for today,” Tony said as he dashed off.

Sure enough, Peter’s jacket had gone missing, and he’d taken off his shoes for some reason, but after a bit of a scramble, he was put back together again. “Ready for the rings?”

“Yes,” Peter said, standing up a little straighter as Tony handed him the box. “When do we get to eat the cake?”

“Not for a couple hours yet, kiddo,” Tony said, smothering a smile as he took Peter’s hand, and they went to find Steve.

When they finally found him, Steve was with Bucky, Clint, and Natasha, crowded together at the back door. Clint’s expression kept shifting from eerily blank to smiling his face off, and Bucky wasn’t much better.

“Now I get why people have rehearsals,” Clint said, staring into the backyard. “And, uh, why they write vows ahead of time, and sh— _stuff_. I’m gonna make an ass out myself in front of everybody we know!”

Steve gave Clint a pat on the back, and shared a knowing smile with Tony. “You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, worse case you get teased for the rest of your life,” Bucky agreed, which meant Natasha had to step in before the two grooms could start a shoving match. “Alright, places everyone, head on out, and we’ll be there in a minute.”

They stopped to gather up Lucky before he could pull a plate of deviled eggs off of one of the picnic tables, then made their way to where Sam was waiting, a little notebook in hand.

“Still can’t believe they talked me into this,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m just glad they didn’t ask me,” Steve said, adding, “I hereby order you to live happily ever after,” in his Captain’s voice.

Tony squeezed Steve’s hand, gave Peter a kiss on the forehead, and nodded toward the empty seat waiting for him up front. “Time for me to get comfortable, and watch the show.”

Minutes later, music played, Bucky and Clint finally exiting the house, looking giddy, but far more relaxed than they’d been earlier. Tony and the rest of their friends and family stood, snapping photos and smiling stupidly as the couple made their way up front, ultimately standing before Sam, with Steve and Peter on Bucky’s side, and Natasha and Lucky on Clint’s.

It was stupid, but Tony felt like crying before anyone even said anything. Luckily he wasn’t the only one. Dum Dum nudged him in the side, and handed Tony a pack of tissues, eyes already bright with unshed tears.

“Dearly beloved,” Sam said, “we’re gathered here today to unite our friends Clinton Francis Barton and James Buchanan Barnes in marriage. Each of you had touched their lives in some way, and so it’s only fitting that you’re here now to serve as witnesses, and to share in their joy. So, join me now in saying to the grooms, it’s about time, guys!”

Everyone shouted, “It’s about time,” amidst cheers and laughter. Clint went to flip them off, but Bucky grabbed his hand before he could do so, cheeks flushed pink, looking happier than Tony had ever seen him before.

Sam officiated as if he’d done so a hundred times before, but much of what he said was white noise to Tony. Bucky and Clint were staring at each other like they were the only two people in the world, while Tony was hard pressed to keep his eyes off of Steve. It wasn’t only that Steve looked amazing in his suit, it was the almost awestruck expression on his face. Maybe he felt Tony watching him, because Steve turned his head, and smiled shyly, making Tony’s heart beat wildly in his chest.

“First time I met Bucky, I thought his name was stupid, and I was fully committed to hating his guts,” Clint said, turning to the crowd when there were some noises of disbelief. “Seriously, I’m pretty sure we were already fighting by the time Steve got through introducing us.”

“You didn’t like the way I was holdin’ my rifle,” Bucky offered helpfully. “And I thought your _face_ was stupid, and couldn’t figure out where you got off actin’ like you outranked me.”

Clint shrugged. “Please, we both know your form was laughable.”

“Still hit the target dead center, didn’t I?”

“Sure, but that was luck more than anything,” Clint argued. “Admit it, you weren’t _reliably_ awesome with a rifle until after I had my way with you.”

Bucky made a noise of disbelief. “Tell yourself whatever it takes to sleep at night, sweetheart.”

The sound of their family and friends laughing seemed to remind Clint and Bucky that they were in the middle of getting married. Clint cleared his throat, and smiled sheepishly. “Anyway, long story short, I wound up changing my mind, and decided loving Bucky was a way better plan.”

“Same, only I was too scared to admit what sorta love it was,” Bucky said, a touch of regret making an appearance on his handsome face. “Sorry it took me so long, darling.”

“Happened when it needed to happen,” Clint answered, “that’s all that matters. James Buchanan Barnes, you’re my best friend, and I love you more than I ever loved anything in this whole wide world. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life out-husbanding you. Today, in front of everyone we care about, I officially promise to love, cherish, and support you. Whatever life has in store for us, I know it’ll be okay, as long as you’re by my side.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, then had to wipe at his face, and clear his throat before trying again. “Clinton Francis Barton,” he said, voice still croaky,  hands moving quickly as he signed, “you’re _my_ best friend, and lovin’ you is the best part of being alive. Every minute of every day I have with you is a gift, one I never take for granted, considering how close we came to missin’ our chance together. Today I promise, in front of all our friends and family, to love you, respect you, and to work my ass off to be the best I can be for you. I’m gonna be there to watch your six, until the day I die.”

Clint reached out to wipe aside some of Bucky’s tears, even as he shed a few of his own.

“Oh, and no way you’re out-husbanding me,” Bucky added.

Tony laughed, and he wasn’t the only one, although most of Bucky’s fathers seemed to be putting their tissues to good use. Steve caught his eye again, something beautifully, ferociously protective there. He smiled at Tony, mouthed, “I love you,” and suddenly it was difficult to remain seated; Tony wanted to kiss him senseless.

“Bucky and Clint have chosen to wear rings as a reminder of their pledge to each other,” Sam announced.

Steve reached back, and gave Peter a little tap on the shoulder, prompting the kid to rush excitedly over to his uncles, whistling for Lucky. The two almost collided with each other, Lucky barking and happily wagging his tail as each of his humans gave him a pet on the head.

“Peter has the precious,” Peter announced, holding the ring box above his head triumphantly, exactly as Tony had instructed. Clint and Bucky burst out laughing, which was good, because Tony would have felt bad if they were annoyed. A few people in attendance clapped, and Peter gave a little bow, shouting, “Happy marriage Uncle Bug and Hawky!” before running over to hide behind Steve’s legs.

“Thanks, Petey,” Bucky said, giving him a thumbs-up, while Clint added, “Great job, kid.”

Tony watched them exchanging rings, grinning happily when Bucky’s eyes went wide when his snapped snugly to his finger without issue. Clint and Tony had conspired to make Bucky’s band magnetic, so it would behave properly with the prosthetic, something they’d opted to leave a surprise.

“Let these rings serve as a symbol of your love and commitment,” Sam said. “Whenever you look at them, remember the promises you made to each other today. Bucky, Clint, by the authority vested in me by American Marriage Ministries and the State of New York I now pronounce you married!”

A cheer went up, and the happy couple wasted no time grabbing hold of each other, kissing enthusiastically before Bucky hoisted Clint up into the air, and shouted, “You’re stuck with me forever, no take backs!”

Tony was so wrapped up in watching and cheering that it took him by surprise when Steve was suddenly _there_ , pulling him into a kiss. Tony gasped, held on tight, kissing back for all he was worth while staring up into Steve’s beautiful blue eyes. There was a flash, and another, as people snapped photos, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to care.

Steve pulled away around the time Tony felt something tugging on his pants, and then Peter was hoisted up and onto his father’s hip. Tony joined Steve in kissing Peter’s cheeks until the little boy squealed, and squirmed for freedom, before catching Pepper’s eye. And that right there was awesome, because Pepper had her happy crying face going in full effect, but it wasn’t on behalf of Clint and Bucky. Tony knew it was all for him, this understanding only confirmed when Pepper nodded his way.

“Tony, did I do it right?”

“Better than right, kiddo,” Tony answered, holding his hand up for a high five. “That was perfect.”

Peter grinned, then asked, “Can I take off my jacket?”

“Photos first, Pete,” Steve said, setting him back down. “We should get a couple taken of just the three of us while we’re at it,” he added softly before kissing Tony again, eyes bright, and brilliant, and full of love.

“I love the way you think,” Tony said, and wondered how long it would be before they were simply posing for their own wedding photos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We shall have even more of Clint & Bucky's wedding to enjoy next week, this time in a Steve POV. Look at how cute and in love they are!!
> 
> Thanks for all the cheering and well wishing and general awesomeness, people. Everything is cool, but time has been tight, and everything feels like a scramble. *hugs* You're all THE BEST!!!


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding continues!

“We all thought for sure you were going Bridezilla on us,” Sam said, “but this is the most down to earth wedding I’ve ever been to.”

“Agreed,” Rhodey said. “Not to mention, the food was amazing. I’m so full, I’m having trouble breathing, and I still want to go have another helping of that mac and cheese.”

Clint beamed, and took a bow. “The magazines are great if you look at ‘em for what _not_ to do. Some of the stuff people waste their time stressing over will make your head spin, man.”

A warm hand settled against Steve’s back as Jim came to stand beside him. “Ready to fulfil your best man duties?” he asked with a smile. “I think a toast is in order.”

“Probably a good idea. Peter only has another hour or so in him before he crashes.” Steve took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then called, “Attention!”

It was telling that more than half of the people in attendance reflexively scrambled to assume the position of attention, conversation dying down as all eyes shifted to Steve.

“At ease,” Steve said, and laughter rippled through the group. “Thank you all for being here today, and thanks to my parents, for hosting. Between the good food and good company, I think everyone will agree that it’s been a day to remember.”

As he waited for the wave of thanks to die down, Steve watched Bucky work his way through the crowd, making a beeline for Clint, the two kissing upon his arrival.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Steve, Bucky’s brother,” he said. “That wasn’t always the case, though. For the first six and a half years of my life, I was an only child.”

Steve ducked his head, then sought out Tony, who was tucked under Dum Dum’s arm as they listened. Peter was slouched against Tony’s leg, holding on as he pet Lucky’s head. The sight of them was enough to calm the frantic beating of Steve’s heart.

“After my mother died, I thought that was it for me, as far as family went. Then I met Bucky,” Steve continued, smiling at his brother. “Turns out, he has a thing for little guys who are too stupid to know when they should back down from a fight. No one will be surprised to hear that Bucky took me under his wing. Just like that, I had a family again. I figured I’d used up all my luck meeting my brother, but next thing you know, we’re being adopted. _Together_.”

Gabe reached out to ruffle Bucky’s hair, while Jacques planted a kiss on his cheek. Bucky’s eyes were already bright, and Steve struggled for a moment, overwhelmed by gratitude, and love.

“I know a lot of siblings go through phases where they can’t stand each other, but it was never like that for us. Bucky has always been there for me, and since the moment we met, I’ve been proud to call him my brother. Even when he had the mullet.”

“Like _hell_ I had a mullet,” Bucky yelled.

“We both know that’s not true,” Steve said amidst laughter. “Not only is Bucky my brother, he’s also my brother-in-arms. Anyone who has had the privilege of serving with Bucky will tell you the same thing; he’s who you want at your side when you’re up against the wall.”

“‘Specially if he’s the reason you’re up against the wall in the first place,” Clint called, hissing when Bucky elbowed him in the ribs. “Every bar fight I’ve ever been in is because of you, so don’t even try it, husband.”

Any pretense of anger was washed away by Clint’s words, leaving Bucky beaming at Clint.

“I disavow any knowledge of bar fights,” Steve continued, “but I _was_ there when Bucky and Clint first met each other. Never in my life have I seen anyone manage to get under Bucky’s skin the way Clint did, and that was _before_ he even opened his mouth. I thought for sure there was a court martial looming in Bucky’s future, and was not looking forward to breaking the news to our dads. And yet, here I am, toasting them on their wedding day.”

Steve raised his glass of sparkling cider, and a chorus of cheers went up for the happy couple. “Of course, looking back, it all makes perfect sense. I have Bucky stories, and I’m sure some of you have Clint stories. Actually, thanks to Barney, I now know that when he was eight, Clint tried to run away to join the circus.”

“Barney was gonna join, too,” Clint whined, scowling at his brother. “He always leaves off that part.”

“My point is, from the moment they met, there’s only been Bucky _and_ Clint stories.” Smiling at the newlyweds, Steve added, “Don’t worry, I won’t be sharing any of the good ones today, fellas, so you can relax.”

“I, on the other hand, will be publishing a tell-all book,” Natasha said, leaning out of reach when Bucky took a playful swipe at her.

“While they’re both courageous, loyal men, with excellent taste in partners, I think we can all agree Bucky and Clint are lacking when it comes to their taste in food. This assumes you consider MREs food in the first place. Sure, if you’re hungry enough, and take the time to get creative, they’re not so bad. Unlike their fellow soldiers, though, Bucky and Clint didn’t _tolerate_ MREs, they craved them, especially the flavors the rest of us reviled, like Country Captain Chicken, and the Vomelet.”

Several people groaned, while Sam shouted, “That’s just nasty.”

“Since it’s your wedding day, we’re not going to judge you,” Steve said, giving his fathers the signal. “Instead, we’ve scrounged up some MREs in your honor.”

“Seriously?” Bucky and Clint said almost in unison. As boxes of the stuff made an appearance, Bucky and Clint cheered, and hugged each father in turn. “This is awesome!”

“Tony gets the credit for the idea,” Steve said. “You can thank him by not sharing.”

Clint and Bucky converged on Tony, hugging him, Bucky going so far as to lift Tony off the ground. Steve admired the flush of embarrassment on Tony’s handsome face, heart tripping happily in his chest when Tony sent a warm smile in his direction. Looking away was difficult, but Steve managed it, just.

“It’s hard to find the words to express how grateful I am that the Army brought Clint into our lives,” Steve continued. “Clint, you’ve saved my brother in more ways than one, and I can never thank you enough. Witnessing the evolution of your relationship over the years has been nothing short of inspiring. I love you, and hope you know I thought of you as my brother, even before today made it official.”

Clint’s smile was a bit wobbly, and Steve wasn’t surprised to see him lean against Bucky, the two of them grinning stupidly at each other before kissing to a chorus of _awws_.

Surveying his parents’ backyard, Steve took a moment to think of the men and women who hadn’t made it back home with them, and hoped that somewhere, somehow, they were watching, and sharing in the couple’s happiness.

Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat, and raised his glass. “Congratulations to you both. While we can’t know what the future holds, I’m certain when we celebrate your 50th wedding anniversary, we’ll all have many more Bucky and Clint stories to share. Maybe even some we can tell in mixed company. To the happy couple!”

Everyone joined in cheering on the grooms. “As you were,” Steve called, and just like that, music was playing, and the celebration resumed around him.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky said, wrapping him up in a hug. “Hope I do as nice a job when you and Tony tie the knot.”

“I’m sure you’ll do better.” There was no point in hiding his smile, so Steve didn’t bother, just held on tight. “I’m real happy for you, Buck.”

“Me too,” Bucky said, waggling his eyebrows. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go dance with my husband.”

Steve gave his brother a pat on the back as he led Clint away, other couples joining in as the grooms danced. Bucky and Clint only had eyes for each other, and watching them filled Steve with a profound level of happiness, and no small part excitement.

He was still watching when Tony appeared at his side, and knocked their shoulders together. “Hey, soldier,” he drawled, “can I interest you in a dance?”

“As long as you’re leading,” Steve answered. “I’m great at marching, but not so much at dancing.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tony promised with a smile, taking him by the hand. “Having a good time?”

“Yes. You?”

Tony beamed up at him, and Steve’s heart lurched. “Yup. Although, I’m having trouble keeping my eyes off of you.”

Steve inched closer, leaving hardly any space between them, one hand nestled low on Tony’s back. “The feeling is mutual.” Tony wasn’t precisely rumpled, but he’d lost the jacket, undone a few buttons, and loosened his tie. Steve wanted to drag him somewhere secluded, and mess him up a little more. “In case you were wondering, the odds of getting lucky tonight are in your favor.”

“Is that so?” Tony’s tongue darted out, moistening his lower lip. “How much longer before we can sneak out without being rude?”

They shook with shared laughter, Steve’s forehead resting against Tony’s as they continued dancing. “Pepper and I had a talk earlier.”

Concern and hope warred with each other in Tony’s eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. We started on the subject of art appreciation, but before too long she was apologizing again for what happened before.” The tension eased out of Tony’s body as Steve added, “Pepper said she and Rhodey can see how happy you are. How happy _we_ are. Anyway, it was a nice talk.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Tony’s smile was something else, and Steve didn’t have much choice but to kiss him. By the time he managed to stop, Tony’s cheeks were pink, and his eyes bright. “Seriously, though, at this point you can probably see how happy I am from space.”

Steve laughed, and held on tighter, trying to burn every last detail into his memory. The sounds of people celebrating around them, the lovesick expression on Tony’s face, the feeling of him in Steve’s arms as they danced. So much of what he carried around in his heart made him feel heavy with sorrow, but the longer he was with Tony, the more it seemed as if the scales were being balanced. It was only a matter of time before the good memories outweighed the bad.

By the time the song ended, Steve felt like a bundle of nerves, but there was something nice about the sensation. It reminded him of jumping out of an airplane. Yes, it was terrifying, but it was also exhilarating. Now that Bucky and Clint were married, he and Tony were free to go ahead with their plans, and as far as Steve was concerned, there was no time like the present.

Peter was watching them from the sidelines, and waved to get their attention. Tony waved back, and nodded his head toward the little boy.

“I think we’re being summoned,” he said, taking Steve’s hand, and leading him toward Peter.

Squeezing Tony’s hand, Steve opened his mouth, and confessed, “I don’t know how I did this without you.”

“Did what?” Tony’s confusion seemed genuine, which was just like him.

“ _All_ of it,” Steve answered, and it wasn’t an exaggeration. “Being Peter’s father, most of all. But… life, really.”

If Clint and Bucky had decided to get married earlier on, it would still have been a happy occasion, but Steve wouldn’t have experienced it in the same way. Without a doubt, loving Tony had changed him, had made him a better man. Before, the happiness of others had a tendency to wear down on Steve, to feel oppressive, no matter how well deserved it might be.

Steve would have struggled being surrounded by so many celebrating people. It was the old ‘alone in a crowd’ syndrome he and Tony had discussed on New Year's Eve, what felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, Steve had considered himself as happy as he could ever be, and counted himself lucky. And yet, in the months that had followed, Tony had shown him how very wrong he was.

Now, Steve didn’t need to put on a brave front, and pretend he was celebrating, all while feeling hollowed out inside. Tony had filled in those missing pieces, leaving him whole, and strong, and capable of facing his demons head on. Perhaps more importantly, Steve felt capable of allowing _himself_ to have the sort of joyous life he’d always considered himself unworthy of having.

“Everything is a hell of a lot better with you at my side, Tony.”

“That’s good.” Tony ducked his head, eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled. “I feel the exact same way, Steve.”

“Are you ready?” Peter asked, running the remaining distance.

Steve swept Peter up into his arms, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, heart overflowing with love. “Yup, I think it’s time, buddy.”

“Already?” Tony asked, eyes going wide. “They haven’t even cut the cake.”

“We’re not leaving yet,” Steve said, sharing a smile with Peter. “Are we?”

“Nope,” Peter agreed. He bounced a little in Steve’s arms, the excitement getting the best of him as he motioned for Tony to come closer. Once he was within reach, Peter gave Tony a half-hug. “We love you, Tony.”

“I love you, too, kiddo.” Tony pressed a kiss against Peter’s forehead.

“But we love you more than anyone _ever_ ,” Peter explained, waving his arms for emphasis. Steve tightened his grip so the little boy wouldn’t go toppling to the ground, but Tony had his full attention. “Right daddy?”

Tony’s brow was furrowed, but he was still smiling as he tried to puzzle through what was happening. “That’s right,” Steve agreed. “We wanted to make sure you knew how happy we are that we all get to live together as a family now.”

“It was nice before, but I love having _two_ daddies even more,” Peter explained. Almost identical pairs of big brown eyes were watching Steve, as if worried his feelings might be hurt, so he gave a reassuring nod. “I asked, and daddy says I don’t have to call you Tony if I don’t want to.”

“Your dad is right,” Tony agreed, his voice cracking. He took hold of Steve’s arm, as if he needed to anchor himself, fingers gripping almost tight enough to hurt. “What did you want to call me instead?”

“ _Daddy_ ,” Peter said, as if Tony was stupid.

“That won’t be confusing for you?” Tony asked.

“No. Daddy, and _daddy_ ,” Peter said, pointing to each of them in turn.

Tony’s answering laughter sounded equal parts nerves and happiness. His eyes were bright with tears, and love as he kissed Peter again, then hugged them both. “I’d love that, Peter. More than anything.”

Peter reached for Tony, and Steve let go, allowed the little boy to be pulled into Tony’s arms, and wrapped up tight. Steve watched them, struggling for a moment against a wave of guilt. It felt like so much time had passed, when in reality, back on the same day of the previous year, Steve had still been going out of his way to keep Tony at arm’s length. Even _discussing_ Peter with Tony had felt dangerous, and now, a week before his sixth birthday, Steve couldn’t imagine raising Peter without Tony by his side. It was enough to make his head spin.

There were tears on Tony’s face, but he was smiling from ear to ear, eyes bright and full of love as he hugged their son. Steve stared into his eyes, and wondered if Tony had already figured out what was coming next.

“Daddy, I think we should all be married,” Peter announced solemnly, “so we can be a family _forever_ , like Uncle Bug and Hawky.”

Tony shifted Peter onto his hip, and looked from him to Steve, lower lip trembling a bit as he smiled. “Is that a fact?”

Peter nodded. “Me an’ daddy talked about it one day, and he said I’m right. So, will you marry us?”

The week before, while Tony was still at work, Peter had plopped down on the couch next to Steve, and asked when his daddies were going to get married. All the talk of his uncles’ wedding had the little boy’s mind working overtime, and once he understood _why_ people got married, Peter was confused. Shouldn’t Steve and Tony be planning to do the same? After all, they loved each other, and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, and Peter wanted that, as well.

Blinking, Tony looked to Steve, and really, there was no choice but to kiss the man. “I absolutely agree with Peter. We love you, Tony. Will you marry us?”

“Yes,” Tony said in a rush, as if worried there might be a time limit for answering.

Steve wrapped them both up in his arms, holding on tight, while Peter cheered. He had no idea how long they stood there, laughing, crying, and exchanging excited proclamations of love, but at some point, someone cleared their throat to get their attention.

“What’s all this then?” James was flanked by Gabe and Jacques, and watching them with an arched eyebrow.

Tony and Steve exchanged glances, but before either of them could say anything, Peter shouted, “We’re getting married!”

Before too long, the group was surrounded by friends and family eager to extend their congratulations, and find out more.

“I don’t know,” Tony swore, wiping at his cheeks. Rhodey and Pepper were taking turns hugging him, and didn’t look like they’d be stopping anytime soon. “We’ve only been engaged five minutes, wedding dates didn’t come up in conversation yet.”

“If we get married sooner rather than later, we could be on our honeymoon while the remodeling happens,” Steve said, feeling himself blush.

He’d learned the hard way that there was no telling what the future held. Life was too short, and too precious to waste a single moment. If Steve had his way, they’d head to the Office of the City Clerk the following morning to obtain a marriage license, and have the ceremony as soon as Bucky and Clint were back from their honeymoon.

“Unless you’d rather be onsite to oversee the construction.”

Tony’s eyes were sparkling. “They’re happier when I’m not around,” he said, trying and failing to smother his smile. “Nobody wants the big boss looking over their shoulder.”

“I think it’s more the surreality of seeing someone in a five-thousand dollar suit demolishing a building with a wrecking ball while giggling like a little kid,” Rhodey pointed out. “Which happened, by the way.”

“Who doesn’t love knocking down buildings?” Tony demanded. Bruce raised his hand, then shrugged when Tony looked at him like he was crazy.

“It’s fun as long as you’re not in the building while it happens,” Natasha pointed out.

“Anyway, our foreman is capable of handling everything to Tony’s standards,” Pepper assured Steve. “Honeymooning would certainly be a fun way to pass the time.”

“Get married, leave town, come back home, and the superhouse of the future is waiting for us,” Tony said, stroking his beard. “Have to say, I’m a fan of this plan, Steve. Mostly because I can’t wait to marry you.”

“No point in waiting,” Steve said, “is there?”

Tony allowed himself to be pulled in close, chin tilted up to give Steve easier access, but the kiss didn’t get very far before a flash was going off nearby. Darcy waved her phone in the air, a sheepish smile on her face. “Sorry, sorry, just documenting the engagement. Can I tell the world? Please let me tell the world.”

“How about you tell them _after_ it happens,” Tony suggested. “We want a low key wedding.”

“I’m in charge of decorations,” Peter announced, receiving a high-five from Tony.

“We’ve got you covered as far as food goes,” Dum Dum added.

Before they could get carried away with the details, Bucky and Clint joined the group. “Called it,” Bucky said, all but tackling Steve into a hug. “I _told_ them you’d be engaged before the day was out.”

“What’s the payout at?” Clint asked, and the conversation went off the rails once again while the group argued over whether _Price is Right_ rules applied to their bets.

By the time the cake was cut, Steve had spent so much time smiling that his face ached. Tony was in the same boat, the two of them grinning dopily at each other, and laughing for no reason as the evening wore on. Clint and Bucky were their only competition in the sap department. It was only a matter of time before they made their exit, and officially started their new life together.

Peter was beginning to doze off in Dum Dum’s lap when Bucky appeared at Steve’s shoulder, and nodded his head toward the house. “Everything okay?” Steve asked, taking note of the strange expression on his brother’s face.

“Yeah, peachy,” Bucky swore. “Just wanna talk to you and Tony real quick. In private.”

Tony shrugged, and they followed Bucky back to the house. It all made sense once they spotted Clint sitting at the kitchen table with paperwork spread out in front of him, and a set of keys in his hand.

“Awesome, you found them,” Clint said, hopping to his feet. Pointing down at the deed, he blurted, “I think I must have had way more to drink than I realized, ’cause this looks like you guys bought us a _building_.”

Bucky snagged the tablet Tony had included with the gift, and swiped a few times before holding it up to show Steve, as if he’d never seen it before. “Right next door to the shop,” Bucky said, pointing at the schematic he’d brought up on the tablet’s screen. “A three story building, with roof access, that—unless we’ve got this all wrong—we get to customize into our dream house, at no cost to ourselves.”

“Well, there _are_ limits,” Tony said, “but they’re already built into the software. It won’t let you drag a hot tub into a spot that’d be a code violation, for example. If you pull up the other folder, you’ll see what we settled on for our place, and the roof, in case you need inspiration. There’s some pre-built specs that you could iterate off of, too.”

As Tony explained what was happening, Clint’s eyes grew wider and wider, his mouth hanging open in shock. “So… We’re not confused? This is ours?”

“Yes, once you sign the deed,” Steve explained.

Bucky and Clint looked at each other, then at Steve and Tony, the panic and confusion sliding off of their faces almost in unison. “Holy fuckin’ _hell_ , Stevie!”

Tony huffed when Clint collided with him, Steve hardly having time before he had an armful of his brother, the two mobbing them excitedly, talking over each other. Most of it was profanity, mixed in with disbelief, and a lot of gratitude.

“We’re gonna live next door,” Bucky said, dragging his hands through his hair, and grinning wildly. “In our _house_.”

“Dream house,” Clint clarified, looking equally shellshocked. “If this was a movie, I’d be shouting at the screen, telling the dummies to figure out what the catch was. The place isn’t haunted, is it?”

“Uh, no, definitely not haunted,” Tony answered. He glanced at Steve, a shy smile on his face.

“The catch is, we’re going to ask you to babysit now and again.” Steve reached out to take Tony’s hand, the two of them sharing a smile.

“No problem, Peter’s a breeze,” Bucky said, grinning.

Tony cleared his throat, and squeezed Steve’s hand. “We can only hope his future brothers and sisters are the same way. No promises, though, so forewarned is forearmed, or something.”

Bucky had already looked happy, but at Tony’s words, something seemed to shift in his expression, pushing him beyond joy, leaving him all but sobbing. Clint was at his side in a second, but Bucky motioned for Steve and Tony to come closer, so he could get his arms around them. By the time Bucky was kissing his cheek, and holding onto him hard enough to hurt, Steve was crying, too, although he wasn’t sure _why_.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Bucky blubbered. “You got no idea, Stevie, how happy you just made me. It ain’t the house—although that’s amazin’—it’s _you_. I knew Tony was gonna be your reason to fight, but… Never in my wildest dreams, kid. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you. _Both_ of you.”

Steve sniffled, and dragged a sleeve across his face, letting Tony take over hugging duty for a moment, while he shared a soft smile with Clint. Deep down, Steve had known Bucky was worried about him, but the extent to which his PTSD had affected his brother had been lost on Steve until that moment. Which was stupid, really, because if their roles had been reversed, not a single moment would have gone by that Steve didn’t agonize on Bucky’s behalf.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, Buck,” he blurted, and then he was crying in his brother’s arms again. “I should have—”

“Nope, none of that shit,” Clint said. “We’re married, you’re engaged, and you bought us a freakin’ dream house! Regrets aren’t welcome at this party. The future is where it’s at, Cap.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve nodded, and allowed the guilt and shame to slide away. “So, I take it this means you’re accepting the gift?”

“Are you kiddin’ me? Of course we’re accepting,” Bucky said.

“Great! It needs to be notarized, so no signing just yet,” Tony said, still sounding a bit choked up. “We aren’t planning to move forward on any construction until after Peter’s birthday. Take your time, play with the software, and we’ll iron out the details when you two lovebirds come back from the honeymoon.”

Bucky’s smile was a sight to behold, and Steve wanted to start crying all over again. “Like you two are any better.”

“Oh, we’re aiming for _worse_ ,” Tony announced, sounding very proud of himself. “Steve’s already a huge sap, so I’m confident that throwing more kids, and a dog in the mix guarantees we lock down the title of Most Annoyingly Happy Couple.”

“Come at me, bro,” Clint suggested, and Steve couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “Alright, we’re gonna split soon, so we need to start making the rounds. Is Tasha getting a tricked out joint, too, or will this make her crazy jealous?”

“We offered, but she called dibs on my penthouse,” Tony said. “The view is fantastic, so I can’t blame her, there.”

Steve draped an arm around Tony’s shoulders, as they followed his brothers back outside. Peter was curled up and asleep in Dum Dum’s lap, mouth hanging open as quiet conversation went on around him. Steve glanced at Tony, and found him watching the little boy, love and adoration making him all the more beautiful.

“I’m so unbelievably lucky,” Steve said, prompting Tony to look his way. “I love you, Tony.”

“Love you, too, Steve.” He nodded in Peter’s direction, lips curled in a smile. “Is it wrong I’m thrilled to be the lame couple that has to leave early because of the kid?”

“Well, if that makes us lame, I’m all for it,” Steve said. He lowered his voice, and added, “Once Peter’s settled in for the night, I’m going to enjoy taking my time getting you out of that suit, and into bed.”

Tony laughed at this, clear and bright, his head tipped back, and Steve felt like he was falling in love all over again. Was looking forward to spending the rest of his life falling for Tony. “I like the way you think, Rogers. Alright, let’s make the rounds and say goodbye before waking up the munchkin.”

And it was strange, but Steve felt as if something had changed over the course of the day. Looking around the backyard, Steve tried to remember the first time he saw his childhood home, Bucky’s hand squeezing his too tight, as they stared, and stared, wondering if it was really meant for them. Wondered if his own children would feel the same way, when they were welcomed into their new family.

“Everything okay over here?”

Steve realized he was crying again, and laughed. “Yeah. Guess I’m just starting to realize how far I’ve come.”

“I love you, Steve,” Natasha said, winding an arm around his waist. “Remember, the offer still stands. If it ever gets too hard, let the people who love you carry the load for awhile. Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve cleared his throat. “Same goes for you, Tasha.”

“Good.” She stood on her tiptoes, and kissed Steve’s cheek. “I’m still proud of you, by the way. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s you, Steve. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“Go on, get out of here,” Natasha ordered, “we’re all sick of Tony undressing you with his eyes.”

Steve laughed, and kissed the top of her head, then made his way over to Peter, Tony arriving at the same time. “I’ve got him,” Tony offered, lifting Peter out of Dum Dum’s lap, so Steve would be able to give his dad a hug goodbye.

“Daddy,” Peter murmured sleepily. Steve watched Tony open his mouth to correct the little boy, but then he simply smiled, instead.

“That’s right,” Tony whispered. “Time for all little scientists to go home, and get in bed.”

“Can I have cake for breakfast?” Peter asked, eyes already drooping closed again.

“Not a chance,” Tony said. He stroked Peter’s back, and grinned at Steve. “Meet you at the car?”

“Sounds good, I’ll be right there.”

Steve watched the two of them as Tony made his exit, pausing several times along the way for a hug goodbye. Dum Dum’s warm hand settled against his shoulder, and Steve allowed himself to be pulled into a hug, sighing once he was in his father’s arms.

“Thank you,” he said.

“What am I gettin’ thanks for?”

“How far back do you want me to go?” Steve asked, and Dum Dum laughed. “Thank you for sitting me down, and talking some sense into me. I think about our talk, sometimes, and… I don’t know, it’s scary. I came pretty close to breaking it off with Tony, before you set me straight.”

“Nah,” Dum Dum said, shaking his head. “You were already crazy about him, Steve. I only said what you already knew, deep down. You wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ll never know if you’re right,” Steve said, smiling. “Nothing is happening right away, but after we’re married, Tony and I plan to pick up Clint and Bucky’s slack as far as children go. Hope you don’t mind having more grandkids to spoil.”

Dum Dum’s expression was priceless. “As if there wasn’t enough to celebrate,” he said, hugging Steve again. “Your dads are gonna be over the moon. Congrats, son. Now go on, get outta here, and get Peter into bed.”

Steve snapped off a salute, hugged his father once more, and then made his escape. Out on the street, things were quieter, the sounds of celebration drifting into the distance. Up ahead, Tony was leaning against the car, hands in his pockets, gazing up at the sky. At the sound of Steve’s approach, Tony turned, and smiled.

Heart aching with love, Steve forced himself to maintain his current pace, even if he wanted to run the rest of the way. When he arrived, Steve settled his hands on either side of Tony’s face, and kissed him softly.

“Four hundred and ninety-eight days ago, you walked into my shop, and nothing was ever the same,” Steve said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Feels like an entire lifetime, Tony.”

The words had hardly left his lips before Tony was returning the kiss, and holding on tight, as if worried Steve might disappear. “Love you,” he said in a rush, and Steve swallowed the words, returned them to Tony with another kiss.

Off in the distance, their friends and family cheered, and the couple pulled apart, laughing. “Guess Bucky and Clint are making a grand exit?”

Steve nodded, smiled, kissed Tony again, and then sighed. “Ready?”

“Ready. Let’s go home,” Tony said, and so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... so, I might have finished the story. *shifty eyes* The epilogue is short, so I'm not making you wait a week. Go read it now. ;D
> 
> Replies to comments coming soon! Another crazy week means I'm behind, but I love you all SO MUCH!!
> 
> Meanwhile, PETER PROPOSED! And, uh, everyone is stupidly happy. Whaaaaaat?


	35. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

“You’re sure?”

Steve took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Because we can—”

“I’m sure.” Tony opened his mouth, as if to argue, so Steve cut him off with a kiss, then pressed another to his temple, right where the silver had started to make an appearance in his hair. “I’m ready, Tony.”

“Okay, then.” Tony pulled Steve into his arms for a quick hug, then smiled reassuringly. “We can always ask the Dad Squad to keep the kids tonight, if you need time, after.”

“Pretty sure I’m going to need to see their faces,” Steve said, “not to mention hug them. An hour each should do the trick.”

Tony made a soft sound of agreement, too kind to point out that there was no way Peter would put up with that level of snuggling. They counted themselves lucky that the teenager still liked hanging out at home, and thought his dads were cool.

With a sigh, Steve settled down on the couch, and watched Tony fussing with the stereo, heart already racing. It was a strange mix of fear, and anticipation, and the desire to get it over with.

“Last chance,” Tony said, pausing to give Steve time to back out before joining him on the couch.

They didn’t talk as the music washed over them, and that was good. Steve wasn’t sure what he would say, anyway. Tony knew everything there was to know. Not only about the album, and his mother, but about Steve himself. Years and years of hard earned knowledge. So, instead of using words, Tony held out his hand, and Steve accepted, threaded their fingers together, and squeezed.

It hurt, hearing _Abbey Road_ again, but thinking of his mother usually left him aching, so Steve breathed through the pain, his face dry. It wasn’t until after Tony flipped the record, and the notes of _Because_ filled the room that it really hit home.

The first sob tore through him, sounded ugly as it made way for the rest, but Steve didn’t fight. He let himself feel that aching chasm of loss, and the echo of the pain that a six-year-old boy had almost drowned in upon waking to find his mother dead. Tony’s hand was against his back, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades, but it wasn’t enough.

Steve stood up, legs shaking. Tempting as it was to cross the room, and make the music stop, he pushed past the urge, and knelt before Tony, instead. Moving in unison, they met in the middle, Tony still seated, with his arms around a sobbing Steve. Tony stroked his hair, and rocked him, whispered soothing words, while Steve shook in his arms.

And, much as had been the case when Steve was a little boy, by the time _Golden Slumbers_ was playing, his tears had run dry. Unlike the first time, though, Steve wasn’t scared when the song transitioned into _Carry That Weight_. Steve had carried the weight of his mother’s death for years, had been so predisposed to shouldering the burden that instead of setting it aside, he went on through his life adding to the load instead. It came so close to destroying him, but instead…

Carefully, Steve pulled free of Tony’s embrace, and had no choice but to smile. He could drive himself mad with _what ifs_ , but there wasn’t much point. Instead of being crushed by the weight of his own broken heart, Steve had been made whole again. Had been given a second chance at life, at happiness, and when it mattered most, he had been strong enough to admit that he couldn’t and _shouldn’t_ try to do it all alone.

Tony stroked Steve’s cheeks, brushing aside tears, his own lashes wet, and clumped together. Love was etched into every feature of his beautiful face, and Steve’s chest ached with reciprocity, with amazement, and gratitude.

McCartney sang, “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make,” and Steve knew he was going to be okay.

It still hurt, and in some ways it always would. All of it would. The men and women he’d lost over the years, the things he had seen and had done. There was no reason to hide from that part of himself any longer. The happiness he carried outweighed the heartache, after all.

“I love you,” Steve said, gazing up into Tony’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Love you, too, Steve. And you’re welcome,” Tony answered. “How we doing, pumpkin?”

Steve sniffled, and wiped at his face, wondering how best to answer, then had to laugh. After everything, there they were, the two of them, still facing their fears together. Steve knew Tony would understand, so he took a deep breath, and let the pain slide away as he answered truthfully.

“I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS!! Stop, and give yourselves a round of applause. I love you all! You've been so receptive, and supportive throughout this onslaught of feelings, I can't even. Mondays aren't going to be the same for me. *sniff sniff* 
> 
> Even though this is "The End" it isn't *really* the end. We're going to get other stories in this universe. I mean, how many kids do they wind up with? Is one dog really enough? How much fun did Steve have tattooing his name onto Tony's body? How much fun is a teenaged Peter? How are Clint & Bucky doing? Sex! Er... *cough*
> 
> Anyway, there will be more—subscribe to the series if you don't want to miss anything—but I'm going to catch my breath for a minute. *eyes 250K+ word count* Let's see if I can keep everything a reasonable length from here on out.
> 
> Feel free to scream at/with me: jaqen.hgha@gmail.com | finely-honed.tumblr.com | dezinformatsia.tumblr.com
> 
> I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart, with a special shout out going to Potrix, 27dragons, InnerCinema, and Ishtar12. They've let me scream and flail at them, and have suffered through so many DITHOM conversations. Ishtar12 has left HUNDREDS of comments on the working docs for this story, her feedback helping shape the emotional landscape of this entire universe. Send them some love if you encounter them in the wild. ;D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Deep In The Heart Of Me inspired arts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330468) by [Kamaete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamaete/pseuds/Kamaete)
  * [Scared together - dreaming together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6976360) by [Feuerhaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feuerhaar/pseuds/Feuerhaar)




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